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Gift  of 


Offert  par 


Estate  of 
Arthur  S.  Bourinot 


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BETWEEN  EARTH  AND  SKY 


I  I 


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Between  Earth  and  Sky.       v  '      >, 

"Drop  I  did,  liRht  upon  the  back  of  one." 


Page  18. 


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I'otween  Earth  and  Sky.  v 

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BETWEEN  EARTH  AND  SKY 


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AND  OTHER 


STRANGE  STORIES  OF  DELIVERANCE 


BY 

EDWARD  WILLIAM  THOMSON 


PHILADELPHIA 

A.  J.  Rowland — 1420  Chestnut  Street 
1897 


V    \ 


/  29  y 


163^50 


Copyright  1897  by  the 
AMBRiCAN  Baptist  Publication  Socibtv 


from  tbe  Society's  own  prees 


/^ 


^7 


.     PUBLISHER'S  NOTE 


These  stories  by  Mr.  Thomson  have  most  of  them 
appeared  in  the  "Youth's  Companion"  and  other 
journals.  Mr.  Thomson,  as  is  well  known,  is  one  of  the 
editors  of  the  "Youth's  Companion"  and  his  stories 
form  a  feature  of  that  journal.  The  former  volume 
from  his  pen,  entitled  "Old  Man  Savarin  and  Other 
Stories,"  has  been  received  with  marked  favor,  and 
these  stories  possess  all  the  qualities  of  adventure,  dash, 
and  humor  that  characterized  that.  The  illustrations, 
with  the  exception  of  the  frontispiece,  are  reproduc- 
tions of  those  used  in  the  "Youth's  Companion,"  by 
the  courtesy  of  whose  publishers  they  appear. 


-^■- 


'I\  I 


CONTENTS 

Between  Earth  and  Sky 9 

Ordeal  of  Oliver  James    . 20 

Senator  Jim's  First  Potlatch     33 

In  Full  Flood  .                  ..............  54 

A  Berserker  of  Coi'agong 63 

In  Skeleton  Pool 77 

John  Macbride 92 

The  Lost  Yvonne 104 

DoRiNDA 117 

Over  the  Falls "  .    .  132 

A  Heroine  of  Norman's  Woe 142 

In  a  Canoe 154 

Mr.  Hongoar's  Strange  Story 165 

Straight  for  the  Cliff 178 

The  Sword  of  Honor 188 

An  Adventure  on  the  St.  Lawrence 207 

7 


/ 


8  CONTENTS 

Told  on  a  Pullman 215 

The  Hole  in  the  Wall 228 

An  Incident  at  the  World's  Fair 251 

Dour  Davie's  Drive 264 

Petherick's  Peril 280 


1 


i 


I     1 


\ 


terfKw 


BETWEEN  EARTH  AND  SKY 


'^^t 


TWENTY-SIX  years  ago,  soon  after  France  was 
forced  to  surrender  Alsace  and  Lorraine  to  Ger- 
many, a  good  many  people  of  these  provinces  came  to 
America  rather  than  swear  allegiance  to  the  Emperor 
William.  Among  them  was  an  old  soldier  who  told 
me  tne  following  story  in  broken  English  that  I  will  not 
attempt  to  transcribe.      He  began  with  some  vexation  : 

You  are  mistaken,  I'm  not  a  German.  Because  I 
speak  German  that  does  not  make  German  my  heart. 
It's  all  French.  I'm  an  Alsatian.  We  Alsatians  are 
more  French  than  the  French  themselves,  because  from 
France  we  long  had  brotherhood  and  equality  and  free- 
dom. 

In  the  great  war  I  was  in  the  French  army.  Did 
I  fight  in  many  battles  ?  No,  I  did  not  fight  at  all. 
But,  for  all  that,  I  was  in  six  battles  under  fire,  and 
sometimes  in  worse  danger  than  the  men  who  fought. 
In  the  balloon  corps  I  was  twice  wounded. 

You  think  that  was  strange  ?  You  think  there  was 
no  danger  in  the  reconnaissance  with  balloons,  eh  ? 
But  if  you  saw  how  fast  the  Germans  shelled  our  bal- 
loons as  soon  as  they  stopped  in  the  air ! 

9 


k    ♦ 


lO 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND   SKY 


Stopped — how  stopped  ?  Why,  stopped  at  the  end 
of  the  rope.  You  don' t  suppose  war  balloons  go  loose, 
do  you  ? 

Well,  if  you  saw  how  the  Germans  fired  at  them, 
and  how  they  brought  their  long-range  guns  to  bear  on 
the  ground  where  the  end  of  the  balloon  rope  was,  then 
you  would  know  whether  there  was  danger  for  the  men 
of  the  balloon  corps. 

I  do  not  speak  of  the  officers  that  went  up  in  our 
balloons  to  view  the  enemy's  lines.  Any  one  may  un- 
derstand the  risks  they  ran,  when  rifle  balls  and  shells 
were  screaming  to  pierce  the  balloon  and  bring  its  car 
tumbhng  down.  No,  I  speak  more  of  the  risks  we 
privates  had  from  the  German  fire  on  our  standing 
ground. 

Could  they  see  us?  No ;  but  they  could  see  the 
balloon.  They're  not  fools,  the  Germans.  When 
they  could  see  the  balloon  they  could  quickly  calculate 
about  where  its  rope  touched  the  ground.  Oh,  that  terri- 
ble German  artillery  !  Skrei-i-i  !  I  think  I  hear  the  shells 
shrieking  again.  Often  we  had  to  stay  in  one  place  for 
an  hour,  two,  three  hours,  losing  more  by  death  and 
wounds  than  the  same  number  of  soldiers  on  outpost. 
But  the  most  terrible  of  all  was  what  happened  to  me 
at  the  end. 

It  was  toward  the  latter  part  of  August,  ten  days 
after  the  traitor  Bazaine  had  cooped  us  up  in  the 
fortifications  of  Metz.     The  order  came  for  my  squad 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND  ^KY 


II 


1 1 


to  go  out  far,  far  toward  the  German  lines,  send  up  our 
balloon,  and  get  a  look  at  what  the  enemy  were  doing. 

Bazaine — our  army — still  held  a  plenty  of  land — 
oh,  a  great  wide  country  beyond  the  inner  forts.  In 
the  field  where  we  stopped  there  had  been  heavy  fight- 
ing that  morning.  First  our  soldiers  had  been  driven 
in  a  mile,  then  they  had  come  back  and  recc  /ered  the 
ground.  Recovered — yes,  and  covered  it,  1  might  well 
say.  The  field  was  thickly  dotted  with  their  corpses. 
It  was  strewn  with  dead  and  wounded  horses,  rifles, 
knapsacks,  broken  gun  carriages — all  the  dibris  of  war. 

I  could  hear  a  dropping  fire  of  musketry  between 
the  outposts,  perhaps  half  a  mile  away  in  front  of  us. 
Still  the  field  where  we  inflated  our  balloon  was  not 
much  disturbed,  except  by  live  men  burying  dead  men, 
by  wounded  horses  shrieking,  and  sometimes  by  the 
march  of  our  infantry  into  a  narrow  belt  of  woods  that 
hid  us  and  our  balloon  from  the  enemy. 

There  was  a  steady  breeze  blowing  from  us  to  the 
front.  The  sun  was  hot  and  the  sky  blue.  I  remem- 
ber well  how  clear  the  sound  of  bells  chiming  in  Metz 
behind  us  came  across  the  acres  and  acres  all  strewn 
with  wounded  and  dead. 

For  ten  minutes  after  we  had  sent  up  the  balloon 
there  was  no  firing  at  it.  There  it  floated,  a  thousand 
feet  high.  It  was  pressed  toward  the  German  lines  by 
the  breeze,  which  seemed  stronger  above.  The  bal- 
loon was  not  straight  over  our  heads,  you  understand  ; 


J' 


12 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND   SKY 


the  breeze    took  it  maybe  a  hundred   and  fifty  feet 
nearer  the  German  lines  than  where  we  stood. 

I  stood  near  the  cylinder,  or  (jlrum,  from  which  we 
had  let  out  nearly  all  the  rope  that  held  the  balloon 
from  rising  and  blowing  away.  This  rope  slanted  toward 
the  Germans  as  it  went  up. 

I  had  hold  of  this  rope  ;  my  two  hands  were  above 
my  head  grasping  the  rope.  I  was  resting  like,  when  all 
of  a  sudden  the  German  artillery  opened  fire. 

They  had  not  calculated  the  balloon's  position  very 
perfectly,  but  they  got  ours  well.  First  five  shells  flew 
over  the  woods  at  the  balloon.  These  were  all  timed 
to  burst  as  they  did,  almost  together.  But  none  of 
their  fragments  hit  the  balloon  ;  they  had  burst  too  far 
behind  and  below  it. 

While  I  was  watching  these  explosions  a  far  bigger 
shell  came  curving  over  the  wood  as  if  flung  from  a 
mortar.  It  fairly  struck  the  windlass  drum  on  which  the 
rope  was  wound,  burst  the  same  moment,  and  seemed 
to  kill  or  wound  every  man  of  the  squad  except  me. 

Though  I  was  not  hit,  I  was  half  stunned  by  the 
concussion,  and  of  course  I  should  have  been  thrown 
to  the  ground  if  I  had  not  held  on  by  the  rope.  I  did 
not  know  I  was  holding  on,  you  understand.  I  was  too 
much  dazed  to  know  what  had  happened  or  what  I  was 
doing.  I  knew  I  was  alive,  and  that  was  about  all, 
and  I  clung  to  the  rope  as  if  it  was  to  save  me  from 
drowning. 


I  I 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND  SKY 


13 


When  my  full  senses  came  back  I  felt  that  my  feet 
were  off  the  ground.  I  looked  down.  The  earth  was 
a  hundred  feet  below  me.  Next  moment  it  seemed 
nearer,  and  I  saw  why.  The  balloon,  carried  swiftly 
by  the  wind,  had  already  lifted  me  over  the  wood.  It 
was  drifting  rapidly  toward  the  German  lines. 

I  thought  of  dropping  down  among  the  tree  tops, 
but  while  I  was  trying  to  make  up  my  mind  the  balloon 
was  rising.  I  was  two  hundred  feet  up  from  the 
ground.     This  all  happened  in  no  time,  I  might  say. 

Lifting  my  eyes  to  the  balloon  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  it  still  as  far  in  advance  of  me  as  it  had  been  when  I 
stood  by  the  windlass.  You  might  think  my  body 
would  swing  forward  to  a  place  straight  under  the  bal- 
loon. No  ;  the  balloon  was  traveling  ahea^  and  draw- 
ing me  up  and  along  at  exactly  its  rate  of  speed. 

Perhaps  you  don't  know  how  easily  a  balloon  goes 
up  and  on.  No  jerks — a  steady,  quiet  flight — no  re- 
sistance of  the  air  to  your  movement  forward,  for  you 
see  the  air  goes  with  you  ;  it  pushes  you  at  exactly  the 
speed  it  keeps.  I  remember  wondering  at  the  ease  of 
the  motion  that  bore  me  so  swiftly  away,  and  carried 
me  higher  and  higher.  My  arms  were  not  jerked  ;  it 
was  as  easy  to  hang  on  to  the  rope  as  if  it  had  been  in 
a  barn. 

In  just  a  little  bit  of  time,  not  half  a  minute,  I 
suppose,  I  had  passed  over  the  wood,  and  there  were 
then  four  hundred  feet  of  air  between  my  soles  and  the 


14 


\\ 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND   SKY 


ground.  You  see  I  had  only  the  strength  of  my  grip 
to  save  me  from  falling. 

All  this  had  occurred  so  quickly  that  I  was  more 
surprised  than  scared.  Somehow,  perhaps  because  I 
was  lifted  so  easily,  I  had  a  sort  of  confidence  that  I 
should  be  as  easily  set  down.  But  where  ?  How  long 
could  I  keep  my  hold  ?  The  balloon  might  rise  above 
the  clouds,  with  me  dangling  nearly  a  thousand  feet 
below  it,  till  I  must  drop  from  exhaustion. 

I  clung  harder  as  I  thought  of  how  I  should  fall. 
I  should  turn  headlong  and  shoot  sloping,  and  turn 
again,  tumbling  limp  like  a  figure  stuffed  with  rags.  The 
wildest  fear — horror  of  the  empty  air — came  over  me. 
It's  a  wonder  I  didn't  let  go,  for  my  reason  seemed  to 
leave  me.     But  I  hung  on,  and  thought  again. 

I  must  have  something  on  which  my  feet  or  legs 
could  press.  The  sensation  that  they  were  weighting 
me  was  hideous.  I  lifted  one  leg  as  if  to  clutch  it 
around  something  firm.  You  know  how  a  man  will  do 
that  when  he  is  holding  on  by  his  hands  and  beginning 
to  lose  his  grip.  It  is  an  unconscious  movement.  Well, 
my  leg  touched  the  trailing  rope,  the  rope  which  passed 
down  in  front  of  my  body  and  which  followed  slanting 
behind  me,  just  as  the  rope  above  slanted  up  from  me 
to  the  balloon. 

At  touch  of  the  rope  I  instinctively  threw  forward 
my  legs,  but  failed  to  hold  the  rope  between  them. 
With  that  a  great  shout  came  up  from  a  brigade  of  our 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND   SKY 


15 


infantry  over  which  I  was  passing.  The  soldiers,  I  sup- 
pose, had  not  quite  understood  the  horror  of  my  situ- 
ation till  they  saw  the  movements  of  my  legs. 

With  the  sense  of  being  watched  by  thousands  a  cer- 
tain new  strength  came.  I  thrust  forward  my  left  leg 
till  I  felt  the  rope  inside  the  thigh,  then  I  clutched  with 
the  right  leg  and  held  the  rope.  Then  I  kicked  my 
right  foot  around  and  got  a  better  hold.  This  gave  a 
good  deal  of  relief  to  my  hands.    Then  I  looked  down. 

Directly  beneath  me  were  the  spiked  helmets  of  a 
German  infantry  regiment.  Twirling  as  I  was  with  the 
rotary  motion  which  a  balloon  always  has  in  free  flight, 
and  which  was  imparted  to  the  slanting  rope,  I  lost  sight 
of  the  German  array  in  an  instant.  A  field  of  yellow 
stubble  came  into  my  vision,  then  a  wood,  then  a  con- 
fused panorama  of  cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery.  All 
were  gazing  upward. 

Fifty  thousand  enemies  looked  steadily  at  me. 
They  had  stopped  in  their  tracks  with  wonder.  Not  a 
shout,  not  a  gun  was  heard  for  what  seemed  an  im- 
mense time,  and  must  really  have  been  about  half  a 
minute.  Swallows  flew  around  or  past  me  with  twit, 
twit,  twit,  as  if  exulting  to  show  their  speed  against  that 
of  the  wind  that  quietly  swept  me  on. 

Rifle-firing  between  the  outposts  must  have  ceased 
as  I  went  dangling  over  their  ground,  for  shooting 
seemed  to  break  out  afresh  and  distant  as  I  looked 
down  into  the  faces  of  a  squadron  of  Uhlans. 


i6 


BETWEEN.   EARTH    AND   SKY 


You  think  this  all  took  a  long  time.  No,  I  passed 
on  like  a  bird,  and  things  beneath  streamed  away  be- 
hind me  as  if  pushed  with  irresistible  speed  toward 
Metz.  I  remember  well  having  a  fancy  that  the  Ger- 
mans were  being  poured  against  the  city. 

The  Uhlans  pointed  out  in  amazement  at  me  with 
their  lances.  One  must  have  raised  his  carbine  to  fire 
at  me,  for  I  distinctly  heard  a  loud  voice  cry  : 

'*  No  !  Do  not  shoot.  We  will  follow  and  capture 
the  balloon  and  the  officers  in  it.  If  you  kill  the  man 
he  will  fall.  Then  his  weight  will  relieve  the  balloon 
and  up  it  will  go  again. ' ' 

•*Up  it  will  go  again."  Again  !  It  was  well  for 
me  that  I  understood  German.  The  balloon  must  then 
be  falling.  I  had  forgotten  that.  Of  course  it  was 
falling,  and  quickly  too.  Hope  and  strength  revived 
in  me.  I  understood  better  than  the  Uhlans  what  was 
happening. 

My  officers,  away  up  above,  were  releasing  gas. 
They  were  risking  capture  to  save  me.  They  were  try- 
ing to  put  me  so  near  the  ground  that  I  could  drop 
safely.  Looking  up  I  saw  faintly  for  an  instant  their 
white  faces  gazing  down  and  back  at  mine.  They 
waved  their  shakos  to  me. 

They  were  indeed  trying  to  save  the  poor  pri- 
vate soldier  !  God  bless  them  for  brave  men  and  hon- 
est officers  !  I  resolved  to  drop  when  within  thirty  feet 
of  the  ground,  and  thus  save  them. 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND   SKY 


17 


You  understand  that  not  more  than  three  or  four 
minutes  could  have  elapsed  since  the  great  shell  had  cut 
loose  the  balloon.  I  afterward  found  out  that  my  flight 
had  been  at  the  rate  of  nearly  thirty  miles  an  hour.  I 
had  been  carried  more  than  two  miles  when  I  found 
the  rope  slowly  tearing  through  my  grasp. 

Looking  down  I  saw  the  ground  about  two  hun- 
dred feet  below.     My  strength  was  ebbing  fast. 

The  balloon  as  it  descended  must  have  reached  a 
breeze  of  little  speed,  for  the  Uhlans,  whom  I  had 
heard  and  sometimes  seen  clattering  farther  and  farther 
behind,  were  again  galloping  beneath  me.  Every  r.  .ii 
was  looking  upward.  All  were  taking  ditches  and 
hedges  in  their  stride.  With  the  excitement  of  the 
chase  they  began  to  yell.  Their  leader  silenced  them 
with  an  angry  command. 

They  now  carried  their  lances  pointing  straight  up 
by  their  knees,  every  butt  in  its  socket.  I  had  the 
thought  that  I  must,  when  I  fell,  be  impaled  on  those 
glittering  points. 

With  straining  to  grasp  the  rope  more  tightly  be- 
tween my  knees  they  had  begun  to  tremble.  My 
whole  body  was  racked  by  pain  ;  my  breath  came 
short ;  the  sweat  poured  out  of  me,  though  I  was  now 
deadly  cold.  My  distress  was  becoming  unendurable 
and  my  senses,  I  knew,  must  soon  depart.  Every 
second  the  rope  slowly  passed  through  my  hot  and 
bleeding  hands. 

B 


i8 


BETWEEN    EARTH    AND    SKY 


I  looked  down  once  more.  The  nearer  I  came  to 
the  earth  the  more  whirled  the  panorama  of  woods,  sol- 
diers, chdteaux,  cabins,  and  fields.  I  was  incessantly 
turning  more  and  more  giddy.  I  closed  my  eyes.  I 
felt  I  might  at  any  moment  drop. 

My  grasp  was  so  feeble  that  the  rope  tore  and 
burned  with  its  quickened  slipping.  I  attempted  to 
seize  it  with  my  teeth,  and  failed.  Expressions  of  pity 
came  from  the  galloping  Uhlans. 

"Poor  man!"  said  their  leader.  "Poor  fellow. 
Big  Fritz,  try  and  put  your  lance  in  the  loop.  Then 
gallop  a  little  faster  and  you  may  help  him  down." 

The  loop  !  I  had  forgotten  the  loop.  But  the  rope 
had  been  fastened  around  the  drum  by  a  long  loop. 

"  The  loop,  eh  !  "  thought  I.  "If  the  loop  is  near 
the  lances  I  must  be  near  the  ground.  If  they  get  hold 
of  the  loop  they  will  haul  down  the  balloon  and  cap- 
ture my  two  lieutenants.     I  must  drop. '  * 

Drop  I  did,  right  upon  the  back  of  one  of  the 
Uhlans  !  The  shock  brought  him  and  his  horse  both 
under  me  to  the  ground.  The  man  was  badly  hurt, 
but  I'm  glad  he  didn't  die,  for  he  saved  my  life, 
though  not  as  he  meant  to.  I  remember  being 
clutched  by  hands  and  lifted.  I  remember  an  angry 
shout  of  "It's  gone  up  ! "  The  balloon,  freed  from 
my  weight,  had  risen  instantly,  carrying  the  loop  be- 
yond my  captors'  reach. 

Then  I  must  have  lost  my  senses. 


BrrWEEN    EARTH    AND  SKY 


19 


When  I  came  to  there  were  only  two  Uhlans  with 
me.  Both  were  looking  intently  upward  and  toward 
where  there  was  a  sound  of  musketry  not  far  away. 
The  Uhlans  were  shooting  vaiiily  at  the  vanishing  bal- 
loon. My  lieutenants  were  waving  their  signals  flags 
in  derision. 

What  became  of  the  balloon  and  my  officers  I  do 
not  know  to  this  day.  The  Germans  kept  me  prisoner 
till  the  end  of  the  war,  and  I  came  away  to  America  as 
soon  as  I  knew  Alsace  was  no  longer  part  of  dear 
France. 


/ 


ORDEAL  OF  OLIVER  JAMES 


' 


MY  young  friend,  Oliver  James,  put  his  canoe  into 
the  water  below  Chestnut  St'-eet,  Boston,  about 
eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  thirteenth  of  July. 
The  hour  is  fixed  by  the  janitor  of  the  Kashigawigamog 
Boat  Club,  who  remembers  that  Mr.  James,  while  select- 
ing his  paddle,  remarked  that  the  tide  seemed  half  in. 

So  hot  was  the  day  that  the  janitor  advised  Oliver 
to  wait  for  a  breeze.  But  the  young  man  said  his  blood 
seemed  fevered  by  heat,  that  the  sultry  weather  had 
kept  him  awake  nearly  all  the  previous  night,  that  he 
had  tried  vainly  to  find  coolness  under  the  trees  of  the 
Common,  that  his  head  rang  with  the  clatter  on  granite 
blocks  and  the  clang  of  the  electric  cars,  and  that  noth- 
ing would  relieve  him  so  well  as  the  perspiration  of 
rapid  e^cercise.  The  janitor  thinks  that  perhaps  Oliver 
had  already  been  slightly  sunstruck. 

The  sun,  as  he  started,  glared  from  an  unclouded 
sky.  From  the  various  tall  chimneys  of  Boston,  Cam- 
bridge, and  Charlestown,  smoke  rose  as  straight  up  as 
on  a  windless  winter  morning.  Under  the  least  breeze 
the  river  affords  coolness  to  oarsmen,  but  on  that  still 
forenoon  the  scorch  of  the  sun  was  unmitigated. 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


21 


**  I  suppose  my  shins  and  arms  will  peel  again," 
Oliver  called  back  to  the  janitor. 

They  and  his  neck  and  shoulders  wer(e  naked,  for  he 
was  paddling  in  "trunks."  The  bare  parts  were 
tanned  dark  brown,  for  he  was  used  to  going  out  in  that 
scant  costume. 

**  I  guess  you're  safe  from  sunburn  anyhow,  sir,"  said 


the  janitor,  and  hastened  indoors  to  escape  the  glare. 
He  reflected,  as  he  watched  Oliver  paddling  up  river, 
that  the  young  man  was  not  likely  to  gain  relief  by  per- 
spiring freely,  for  the  furnace -like  glow  between  water 
and  sky  "would  dry  up  the  sweat  faster  than  it  came." 
No  doubt  Oliver  supposed  that  his  fine  muscular  con- 
dition would  bring  him  through  with  impunity,  but  it  is 
probable  that  he  was  a  little  too  "fine,"  or  overtrained. 
After  he  had  passed  under  the  Harvard  Bridge,  on  the 
Cambridge  side  of  the  central  draw,  he  was  lost  to  the 


22 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


janitor's  sight.  For  the  next  particulars  I  have  consulted 
one  of  the  men  of  the  dredge  working  above  the  bridge 
near  the  Cambridge  embankment. 

This  man  noticed  Oliver  coming  alongside  the  dredge, 
as  if  he  were  seeking  shade,  which  he  could  not  find 
because  the  sun  was  too  high. 

"It's  frightfully  hot,"  said  Oliver. 

"Terrible,"  said  the  dredge  hand. 

"  I  feel  about  done  up." 

**  Should  reckon  you  would.  Better  come  in  under 
the  roof  here. ' ' 

*  *  No,  the  roar  of  the  machinery  would  drive  me  wild. 
Have  you  any  cold  water  aboard  ?  " 

The  man  brought  out  a  big  dipperful.  Oliver  wetted 
his  head  and  neck,  drank,  said  he  felt  better,  and  pad- 
dled off  toward  the  Crescent  Club'*s  boathouse.  He 
had  complained  of  "burning  all  over  "  and  wished  he 
had  worn  something  affording  more  shade  than  his  little 
flannel  rowing  cap  gave. 

About  half-way  across,  and  while  slanting  up  river, 
Oliver  was  met  by  Jacob  Foxglove,  the  professional 
oarsman,  an  Englishman,  rowing  in  his  shell.  Foxglove 
tells  this  story  : 

"The  young  un  looked  kind  of  done  up,  so  I  stops 
and  says  I,  *  Wot's  the  row,  matey?  * 

"•Nothing  much,'  says  he.  *I'm  a  bit  faintish, 
that's  all.' 

"'Want  help?'  says  I. 


/., 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


23 


** '  No  ;  quiet's  all  I  want.  It's  the  roaring  of  the 
city  that's  worst,'  says  he. 

**  *  Roaring  of  sunstroke,'  says  I. 

*** Sunstroke  !'  says  he,  kind  of  startled.  'Oh,  I 
guess  not.  But  I'll  go  ashore  at  the  Crescent  Club 
house. ' 

**  *  It's  shut ;  there  ain't  nobody  there,*  says  I. 

"  'Well,  I'll  draw  my  canoe  out  on  their  platform 
and  sit  down  in  the  shade  of  their  house,'  says  the  poor 
young  fellow. 

**  *  For  all  he  was  sort  of  gasping  like  a  bird  in  the 
heat,  he  looked  so  fit  that  I  didn't  think  he  was  in  a 
bad  way.  So  I  pulls  off,  for  you  may  lay  to  it  that  I 
wanted  to  get  my  own  hide  out  of  the  sun. ' ' 

Foxglove  also  says  that  he  kept  his  eye  on  Oliver  till 
he  was  almost  ashore  in  a  place  where  sky  and  river 
seemed  **  dancing  together  in  heat  haze."  The  Eng- 
lishman saw  no  one  at  the  Cresent  Club  boathouse, 
and  he  thinks  all  the  city  laborers,  then  usually  working 
near  there,  had  struck  on  account  of  the  heat. 

Certainly  Oliver  must  have  been  close  to  the  embank- 
ment when  he  fell  back  in  the  canoe.  He  had  been 
sitting  near  the  middle  on  two  small  cushions  which  re- 
mained under  him  as  he  fell.  The  back  of  his  head 
struck  against  the  first  thwart  in  front  of  the  stern,  his 
neck  bent  limply,  and  his  head  fell  sharply  to  the  floor. 

When  Oliver  regained  consciousness  he  supposed  he 
had  been  struck  blind,  which  seemed  the  more  probable 


0 


24 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


because  everything  had  been  indistinct  before  he  fainted, 
and  the  last  he  lemembered  was  that  blackness  seemed 
suddenly  to  surround  him.     If  he  was  not  blind  then 

D  /TiT^'F'H      "^  perfect  darkness  ruled  where 
BEWMHE^oF  o&Nou.  '       he  lay.     Perhaps  night  had 


■1  »*>!»'. 


Ss. i 


fallen.     But  he  saw  no  stars.  '^~ 

Oliver  winked  both  eyes  repeatedly.  They  were  in 
no  pain,  though  he  had  a  splitting  headache,  and  felt 
very  ill.     He  lay  wondering  what  had  happened. 

A  draught  of  cool  air  was  about  him  ;  he  could  hear 
the  water  rippling  under  the  canoe,  which  swashed 
slightly  as  he  movgd.  It  also  grided  curiously,  and  he 
judged  that  it  was  not  moving  with  the  current. 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


25 


ir 
M 
le 


His  coat,  with  matches  and  a  watch  in  the  pockets, 
lay  beneath  his  shoulders.  To  reach  the  matches  he 
found  he  must  rise  and  get  the  coat  clear.  As  he  sat 
up  he  felt  more  distinctly  the  cool  draught.  Then  his 
head  struck  with  a  little  force  against  a  damp  ceiling,  and 
he  quivered  with  horror  as  he  instantly  surmised  what 
must  have  occurred  during  his  faint. 

When  he  lighted  a  match,  which  was  not  blown  out  till 
he  had  glanced  around,  he  saw  that  he  had  indeed  drifted, 
while  in  a  faint,  into  that  round  tunnel  which  opens  on 
aie  Charles.  A  hundred  times  he  had  seen  over  it  the 
oig  board  placard  :  Danger  !  Beware  of  Conduit. 

A  hundred  times  he  had  shivered  at  the  thought  of 

nat  would  happen  to  any  one  exploring  the  conduit  if 
caught  by  the  rising  tide. 

This  conduit  is  not  a  sewer,  but  was  built  to  discharge 
the  occasional  overflow  of  heavy  rains  from  a  distant 
reservoir.  Oliver  was  in  no  danger  of  suflTocation  by 
foul  air.  But  he  did  not  doubt  that  he  was  doomed  to 
die  there. 

The  ceiling  of  the  conduit  is  a  few  inches  below  the 
surface  of  the  Charles  at  high  tide.  And  already  the 
water  was  so  high  that  Oliver  had  not  room  to  sit  up 
straight  in  his  canoe. 

The  sharp  bow  had  run  against  one  side  of  the  tim- 
bered tunnel  and  been  held  there,  Oliver  could  not  see 
by  what.  The  stern  had  swung  around  and  was  pressed 
against  the  other  side  of  the  arch. 


26 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


So  the  canoe  had  been  held  diagonally  ;  for  how  long 
or  short  a  time  Oliver  could  not  guess.  As  he  tried  to 
sit  up  the  canoe  shook,  and  went  free,  and  drifted  with 
the  current. 

Though  Oliver  had  to  sit  stooped,  he  could  use  his 
paddle,  and  did  so  for  a  few  seconds  before  it  came  into 
his  heat-stupefied  brain  that  he  was  paddling  with  the 
insetting  tide  and  therefore  away  from  the  Charles. 

With  a  strong  effort  of  will  he  collected  his  thoughts. 
Perhaps  he  might  as  well  try  to  get  out  one  way  as  the 
other.  So  he  thought,  for  he  was  not  aware  that  the 
tunnel  was  miles  long.  He  supposed  that  the  inner 
end  of  it  was  in  the  Back  Bay  fens,  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away. 

However,  as  he  did  not  know  whether  the  conduit's 
inner  end  was  wholly  submerged  or  not,  his  best  chance 
seemed  to  be  in  paddling  for  the  Charles.  Therefore 
he  faced  around  and  tried  to  stem  the  current. 

It  was  difficult  work  for  a  sick  man.  He  had  to  stoop 
to  save  his  lead.  He  could  not  lift  his  paddle  high 
enough  to  clear  the  water,  but  moved  it  forward,  sub- 
merged, for  each  stroke.  Every  moment  the  little  arc 
of  air  overhead  was  lessening  with  the  rising  tide. 

Oliver,  perhaps  because  of  the  increasing  pain  of 
stooping,  thought  the  flood  came  in  with  astonishing 
speed.  The  gradual  lifting  of  the  canoe  forced  his 
head  igainst  the  ceiling,  and  the  knuckles  of  his  upper 
hand  scraped  against  the  boards,  which  seemed  over- 


ORDEAL  OF  OLIVER  JAMES 


27 


grown  with  some  short  weed  and  roughened  by  bar- 
nacles. 

After  some  minutes  he  found  no  more  room  for 
strokes  that  would  move  her  against  the  current.  Then 
he  clutched  desperately  at  the  weeds  and  barnacles 
overhead,  trying  to  check  her  drift  backward. 

To  give  up  and  be  drowned  unresistingly  never  en- 
tered the  mind  of  this  American  boy.  Sick,  fevered, 
weak,  racked  with  pah,  he  would  yet  fight  to  the  end. 

Hundreds  of  people  were  plainly  within  a  few  yards 
of  him,  for  he  could  hear  the  frequent  rumble  of  street- 
cars, and  occasionally  the  more  distant  passage  of 
Boston  and  Albany  railway  trains.  Beacon  Street,  he 
supposed,  was  directly  above  his  horrible  prison. 

As  Oliver  vainly  clutched  at  the  conduit's  lining,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  might  paddle  with  his  hands  ; 
but  when  he  tried  this  he  found  the  canoe  drifting 
quickly  backward.  Then  he  lay  down  on  his  back  and 
thrust  his  knuckles  upward  against  the  ceiling. 

With  this  the  pain  of  stooping  went  out  of  his 
shoulders  and  his  desire  to  struggle  became  more  in- 
tense. His  knuckles  slipped  slowly  ^long,  scraped  often 
and  sorely  by  the  barnacles.  Soon  he  comprehended 
that  he  should  have  lain  with  his  head  toward  the 
Charles,  for  he  could  not  get  any  hold  with  the  backs 
of  his  fingers. 

With  difficulty  he  shifted  about,  touched  the  roof 
with  his  palms,  and  instantly  perceived  that  he  could 


28 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER  JAMES 


now  thrust  the  canoe  forward.  He  placed  one  palm 
against  the  ceiling,  pushed,  reached  forward  the  other 
palm,  pushed  again,  and  so  went  slowly  against  the 
current. 

Lying  with  ears  close  to  the  floor  of  the  canoe, 
Oliver  heard  the  gurgle  so  clearly  that  he  supposed  his 
speed  considerable  till  he  fell  to  estimating  it.  His 
reach  was  about  two  feet,  and  each  push  took  about 
two  seconds. 

But  the  narrowing  and  lowering  arch  often  stopped 
the  wobbling  bow.  At  such  times  he  swayed  it  back 
to  the  center  by  pressing  both  hands  upward  till  the 
prow  went  clear.  Considering  all  things,  he  reckoned 
he  was  gaining  about  ten  yards  a  minute. 

The  tide,  rising  at  the  rate  of  twenty  inches  an  hour, 
would  set  the  canoe's  bow  and  stem  hard  against  the 
ceiling  within  twenty  minutes.  Then  he  must  resign 
himself.  But  in  twenty  minutes  he  might  gain  two 
hundred  yards  ! 

Though  Oliver  could  see  no  light  whatever,  he  cal- 
culated that  the  Charles  could  not  b*^  two  hundred  yards 
distant.  The  Beacon  Street  cars,  which  he  could  now 
hear  but  faintly,  ran  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the 
Crescent  Club  boathouse.  If  he  had  gained  one  hun- 
dred yards  already,  he  conceived  he  might  reach  the 
river  in  the  few  minutes  remaining. 

The  thought  of  being  drowned  in  that  slimy  hole  in 
the  dark  was  horrible.     To  sink  and  lie  in  the  mud  at 


ORDEAL  OF   OLIVER  JAMES 


29 


the  bottom — perhaps  not  to  float  out  with  the  tide  till 
thrust  up  at  last  against  the  ceiling  in  high  water  I 

To  his  sick  fancy  this  fear  gave  death  a  new  terror. 
He  worked  desperately,  with  a  sense  of  growing  weak- 
ness. 

When  the  water  was  so  high  that  the  front  end  of 
the  canoe  steadily  scraped  on  the  ceiling,  Oliver 
wriggled  forward  to  weight  down  the  prow.  He  went 
too  far,  and  the  aft  end  began  to  scrape.  Then  he 
shifted  back  till  both  ends  were  barely  free,  and  pushed 
with  all  his  might. 

One,  five,  ten  pushes — was  the  canoe  about  to  stop? 
Yes — it  was  now  caught  at  both  ends  !  He  screamed 
with  the  anguish  of  defeat  and  doom. 

How  could  one  silently  meet  death  coming  in  such 
wise?  There  he  was,  prisoned,  in  absolute  darkness, 
waiting  for  the  tide  to  press  up  over  the  edges  and 
drown  him  like  a  rat  in  a  hole. 

Again  he  began  struggling.  He  pushed  against  the 
ceiling  in  order  to  force  the  canoe  deeper,  and  so  gain 
rooiii  for  thrusting  it  onward.  Thus  he  had  made  a 
little  progress  when  it  became  clear  that  the  canoe 
would  soon  upset. 

Between  pushes,  when  it  rose,  it  tilted.  The  high 
bow  and  stern  were  acting  as  levers  to  topple  it  over. 

Oliver  put  his  right  hand  over  the  side  into  the  run- 
ning water  ;  it  was  within  two  inches  of  coming  over 
that  side.     He  lifted  his  head  and  twisted  it  around  in 


30 


ORDEAL   OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


hope  to  see  light  from  the  entrance.  Not  a  gleam  ! 
With  his  motion  the  canoe  lurched  and  the  water 
poured  over. 

Oliver  vainly  tried  to  right  his  craft.  Too  late  I 
The  next  moment  he  rolled  over  into  the  current. 

Deliciously  refreshing,  the  tide  had  run  in  from  the 
sea.  Down  went  Oliver ;  up  he  came,  under  the 
canoe.  But  already  the  immersion  had  reheved  him 
from  the  stupidity  and  headache  of  partial  sunstroke. 
On  touching  the  thwarts  he  knew  what  to  do,  dived 
against  the  current,  and  rose  with  swimming  room  above 
his  head. 

"I've  a  chance  yet.  I  can  swim  !  But  how  far 
have  I  to  go  ?  "  thought  Oliver,  and  swam  steadily  on 
in  the  dark. 

At  short  intervals  his  hands  touched  the  walls,  for  the 
arc  was  now  barely  wide  enough  to  permit  swimminti;. 
Before  two  minutes  had  passed  he  found  his  hair  touch- 
ing the  ceiling.  Then  he  swam  as  deep  as  he  could, 
keeping  his  chin  in  water. 

"Surely,"  thought  he,  "I  can  reach  the  Charles  in 
five  minutes. ' '  But  three  minutes  had  not  gone  when 
the  back  of  his  head  was  once  more  up  against  the 
weeds  and  shells  of  the  ceiling. 

Now  he  fancied  he  saw  faint  light  far  ahead.  But  it 
had  become  impossible  for  him  to  keep  his  mouth 
above  water.  With  a  few  more  strokes  his  nose  was 
pressed  under. 


ORDEAL  OF   OLIVER  JAMES 


31 


Oliver  dived,  swam  under  water,  and  came  up  with  a 
sense  that  all  was  over.  He  could  not  clear  his  nose, 
nor  dive  again  without  taking  breath.  He  kicked  and 
plunged  under  the  surface  in  despair,  thinking,  "My 
death-throes  have  begun  !"  ^^.^^ 

All  over?  No — he  turned  on  his  back,  got  his 
mouth  and  nose  among  the  weeds  and  caught  breath. 
Then  he  swam  on  his  back  with  huge  endeavor.  He 
would  not  be  drowned,  he  vowed,  while  an  inch  of  air 
remained  into  which  he  might  put  his  nose.  It  slipped 
through  the  weeds  and  scraped  along  the  little  shells. 
The  terrible  and  brave  struggle  was  almost  finished. 

If  he  should  take  in  water  when  gasping  for  air  he 
must  be  choked.  Then  he  would  thrash  around  wildly 
for  a  few  moments,  sink  limp,  and  drift  in  along  the 
bottom — how  far  ? 

Oliver  could  see  no  light,  for  the  entrance,  if  near, 
was  behind  him.  But  he  knew  he  had  turned  a  corner 
in  the  tunnel  and  he  knew  that  corner  was  not  far 
from  the  Charles.  One  more  breath — then  he  turned 
over  on  his  front  and  dived  for  the  last  time. 

Dived  !  He  went  down  to  the  bottom  and  crawled 
there.  He  crawled  till  he  could  crawl  no  more,  and 
then  he  would  not  rise.  Straight  on  he  swam  as  he 
felt  himself  ascending. 

When  the  back  of  his  desperate  young  head  came  up 
against  the  ceiling  he  still  swam.  He  swam  so  well,  in- 
deed, that   he  swam  straight  out  of  the  conduit  and 


32 


ORDEAL  OF   OLIVER   JAMES 


came  bursting  and  choking  up  outside  the  embank- 
ment. 

Most  of  this  information  I  had  from  Oliver  himself, 
that  afternoon,  who  then  looked  as  well  as  any  young 
athlete  can  who  has  his  nose  covered  with  sticking 
plaster. 

"How  good  it  was,"  said  he,  "to  come  up  under 
the  same  old  hot,  glorious  sun,  and  hear  the  thunder- 
ing of  the  dredges,  and  the  clatter  and  clang  of  the 
cars,  and  know  that  I  was  alive  and  not  dead  !  I  could 
hardly  believe  it. 

"What  did  I  do?  Why,  I  swam  to  the  Crescent 
platform,  walked  down  the  river  to  our  boathouse,  and 
astonished  the  janitor  with  my  scraped  nose  and  no 
canoe.  I  didn't  tell  him  my  story  for  he  wouldn't  have 
believed  it.  I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself.  Indeed, ' ' 
said  the  young  fellow,  very  solemnly,  *  *  what  saved  me 
was  just  the  mercy  of  God." 

Next  day  I  met  him  on  Tremont  Street. 

"I've  got  my  canoe  and  paddles,"  said  he  ;  "  they 
floated  out  at  low  tide.  All  I've  lost  Ms  a  coat  and  a 
valuable  nickel-plated  watch  which  any  fellow  can  have 
who  chooses  to  go  into  that  hole  after  them. ' ' 


'^ 


SENATOR  JIM'S  FIRST  POTLATCH 


JIM  was  an  ugly  baby — even  his  mother  admitted 
it — and  that  too  in  a  home  where  babies  were 
annuals  and  uncommonly  pretty.  He  was  an  ugly 
boy,  and  is  now  an  ugly  man.  One  who  sees  him  for 
the  first  time  thinks,  **  How  very  ugly  !  "  and  this  im- 
pression is  renewed  at  each  meeting. 

Yet  Jim,  from  his  early  youth,  was  admired  by  all 
who  knew  him  well,  and  the  admiration  gradually  ex- 
tended to  many  who  never  saw  him,  till  now  the  people 
of  more  than  one  Canadian  province  are  ready  to  cheer 
the  mere  mention,  of  Senator  Jim  Thatcher's  name. 
Hundreds  of  people  have  vainly  tried  to  explain  why 
they  admired  Jim's  looks,  but  none  ever  succeeded 
better  than  the  clever  old  lady  who  said  : 

•*  Yes,  he's  ugly  ;  but  he  looks  great  and  friendly." 
Now  this  "great  and  friendly"  look  of  Senator  Jim 
belonged  to  Jim  the  small  boy,  and  was,  I  believe,  a 
consequence  of  his  early  understanding  that  he  was 
ugly.  He  must  have  recognized  this  when  he  was  two 
or  three  years  old,  for  his  brothers  and  sisters  began  as 
early  as  that  to  address  him  quite  affectionately  as  *  *  You 

ugly  boy. " 

C  33 


34 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


This  vexed  Jim  in  no  degree.  He  accepted  his  snub 
nose  and  wide  mouth  as  cheerfully  as  his  lack  of  a  sing- 
ing voice  ;  it  was  not  a  loss  to  him,  but  something 
taken  from  the  enjoyment  of  his  friends,  something  for 
which  he  felt  in  honor  bound  to  give  compensation. 

"It's  not  very  nice  for  you  to  have  such  an  ugly 
boy,  mother,"  said  Jim,  at  an  early  age;  "but  it's 
very  nice  for  me  to  belong  to  such  a  handsome  family. 
Of  course  I'm  going  to  do  plenty  of  things  to  make  it 
up  to  you." 

In  this  humor  he  worked  with  great  versatility.  By 
diligent  practice  he  made  himself  an  excellent  elocu- 
tionist, because  he  couldn't  learn  to  sing,  and  it  would 
be  a  shame  for  him  to  contribute  nothing  to  the  family 
entertainments  always  going  on  in  this  cheerful  house- 
hold. "  I  mean  to  be  a  satisfactory  son  to  you,  father," 
was  Jim's  reason  for  taking  a  basketful  of  school  prizes. 
In  running,  swimming,  rowing,  jumping,  riding,  cricket, 
lacrosse,  football,  and  what  not,  Jim  was  well  to  the  fore 
by  sheer  dint  of  exertion,  for  he  did  not  begin  with  an 
extraordinarily  good  physique. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  that  he  was  altogether  a  par- 
agon. It  was  Jim  who,  practising  rifle  shooting  at  fif- 
teen years  old,  shot  off  cleanly  the  curly  tails  of  sundry, 
little  pigs,  and  defended  the  proceeding  on  the  ground 
that  "every  fellow  should  try  to  do  something  original." 
But  that  was  long  after  his  famous  potlatch. 

Jim's  good-humored   struggle  for  name   and   fame 


.  / 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


35 


made  him  a  living  energy,  and  it  was  this,  and  the  big 
heart  of  the  boy,  that  shone  like  a  flame  ift  his  face 
and  drew  admiration  from  people  who  wondered  to 
find  themselves  giving  it.  Ugly  Jim  looked  great  and 
friendly.     That  was,  indeed,  the  explanation. 

He  must  have  been  about  eleven  years  old  when 
public  spirit  began  to  stir  in  him  and  manifested  itself 
in  that  open-handed  proceeding  with  which  his  popu- 
larity began.  Up  to  that  time  his  desire  to  contribute 
to  the  enjoyment  of  his  fellow-creatures  had  not  been 
active  beyond  the  circles  of  his  home  and  school, 
though  it  is  true  that  he  had  invented  the  * '  potlatch  ' ' 
for  himself  before  this  time. 

You  know,  I  presume,  that  the  potlatch  is  an  insti- 
tution among  the  Indian  tribes  of  Puget  Sound.  The 
savage  who  aspires  to  high  social  standing  saves  up 
blankets  and  other  desirable  portables  till  he  has  a 
great  store.  Then  he  invites  his  tribe  to  a  feast  and 
gives  away  the  accumulation.  This  potlatch,  by  means 
of  which  the  Indians  ambitiously  beggar  themselves, 
doubtless  originated  with  some  ancient  chief  who  was 
moved  by  the  craving  for  appreciation  which  has  always 
marked  our  Jim. 

Jim's  preliminary  potlatches — we  called  them  treats 
— were  small  affairs.  At  home  and  at  school  it  became 
well  understood  that  the  ugly  boy,  when  he  came  into 
the  possession  of  a  cent,  did  not  squander  it,  like  other 
fellows,  on  candy  or  marbles  for  himself,  but  added  it 


/? 


36 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


to  previously  saved  coin  till  he  owned  at  least  a  dime, 
which  he  then  expended  in  what  his  father  used  to  call 
a  ** blow-out"  for  the  whole  company.  Jim  sternly 
gave  away  his  goodies  to  the  last  morsel,  and  would 
never  have  participated  in  his  own  feasts  had  not  the 
more  thoughtful  of  his  companions  insisted  on  his 
partaking  of  their  portions.  v  ' 

It  was  a  touching  comedy  to  see  Jim  nobly  waving 
away  the  proffered  sweets,  yet  relaxing  now  and  then 
from  his  grandeur  to  take  a  bite  from  the  sugar  stick  of 
some  one,  commonly  a  little  girl,  who  looked  like 
crying  at  his  successive  refusals.  Happily  the  pot- 
latches  of  his  maturity  have  not  left  Jim  destitute,  for 
the  bread  he  casts  on  the  waters  usually  comes  back 
buttered. 

It  was  a  warm  day  in  early  September  when  Jim's 
Uncle  Daniel,  a  great  stump-speaker,  billed  for  a  po- 
litical meeting  in  our  village,  arrived  at  Jim's  father's 
house.  There  the  boys  and  girls  looked  forward  with 
peculiar  interest  to  his  coming,  for  he  had  never  failed 
to  begin  a  visit  by  presenting  each  of  the  children  with 
a  dollar  bill.  Jim,  on  this  occasion,  stored  away  his 
money  according  to  his  habit.  Even  so  large  a  sum 
could  not  be  laid  out  on  a  treat  till  it  was  hoarded 
awhile  and  enlarged  by  sundry  additions. 

While  his  brothers  and  sisters  dispersed  to  spend  the 
afternoon  in  extravagant  pleasures,  Jim,  by  way  of 
delicate  compliment  to  his  Uncle  Daniel,  appeared  at 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


37 


the  public  meeting.  Posted  in  the  fore-front,  he  had 
the  luck  to  catch  his  uncle's  eye.  That  eminent  orator 
was  fleshy  and  droughty  ;  the  day  was  hot ;  he  was  be- 
ginning to  thirst ;  his  time  for  speaking  was  at  hand  ; 
and  a  pitcher  of  water  for  the  speaker  had  been  for- 
gotten. . 

"Jimmy,  come  here,  my  boy,"  said  Uncle  Daniel, 
leaning  over  the  front  of  the  platform. 

Jim  went  forward  coolly,  probably  expecting  to  be 
called  up  higher,  for  he  had  a  good  opinion  of  the  po- 
litical importance  of  a  boy  whose  uncle  had  been  billed 
for  ten  days  past  as  * '  The  celebrated  hberal  orator,  the 
Honorable  Daniel  Thatcher,"  in  letters  a  foot  long  on 
placards  posted  on  every  board  fence  and  shed  in  our 
town. 

**  Jimmy,"  said  his  uncle,  "  go  over  to  that  refresh- 
ment stand  and  get  me  two  bottles  of  pop  and  a  tum- 
bler." He  handed  the  ugly  boy  a  fresh,  crisp,  ten- 
dollar  bill. 

When  Jim  had  elbowed  his  way  back  to  the  plat- 
form. Uncle  Daniel's  speech  was  begun,  but  the  thirst 
was  troubling  him,  and  he  saw  his  small  messenger 
promptly.  Stooping  for  the  drinkables,  he  said,  **  Good 
boy,  Jimmy  !  Keep  that  for  a  frolic,  *  *  and,  thrusting  a 
five-dollar  bill  upon  his  nephew,  he  pushed  the  rest  of 
the  change  into  his  own  capacious  pocket. 

**  Now,"  cried  Uncle  Daniel,  waving  the  bottles  with 
the  comic  air  that  made  him  such  a  favorite,  "now  I 


>^ 


38 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


can  take  a  pop  at  Sir  John's  government."  Amid  the 
roar  of  laughter  at  this  eminent  joke  Jim,  forgetting  his 
dignity  in  excitement,  pushed  his  way  back  through  the 
crowd. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  he  called  to  the  boys  on  the  outskirts. 
**  My  uncle  has  given  me  a  fiver  !  "  Then  waving  the 
bill,  he  ran  home  as  fast  as  his  legs  would  carry  him, 
followed  by  half  the  boys  of  our  town. 

"Tunder  and  blazes,  fellers  ! "  roared  Pud  Latimer, 
who,  though  far  removed  from  Jim's  social  circle,  had 
often  heard  of  Jim's  potlatches.  **  Tunder  and  blazes, 
what' 11  he  do  with  it?" 

This  problem  occupied  Jim  himself  all  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon,  A  weight  was  on  his  mind,  and  he  locked 
himself  up  in  his  own  room  till  tea  time  to  ponder  it 
thoroughly.  Then  his  great  resolve  had  taken  shape. 
He  had  now  six  dollars  and  eight  cents,  a  sum  beyond 
his  wildest  dreams,  and  a  grand  feed  for  the  whole 
youthful  population  was  in  his  mind's  eye. 

At  tea  he  was,  though  not  talkative,  greater  and  more 
friendly  than  on  any  other  occasion  in  his  whole  life. 
All  the  family  were  under  the  magnetism  of  his  silent 
and  controlled  emotion.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  mighty  affairs,  and  it  would  have  been  almost 
irreverence  to  intrude  questions  upon  his  meditation. 

"Edward,"  he  said  to  his  elder  brother,  as  they  rose 
from  the  meal,  **  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  come  down 
town  with  me  ?  " 


c*- 


SENATOR   JIMS    FIRST    POTLATCH 

*'  Certainly,  James."  Usually  they  called  each 
other  Ned  and  Jim,  but  the  shadow  of  great  events 
enforced  formality.  **  Ceilainly,  James,  I'll  do  any- 
thing you  like."         *     ' 

Ned  was  Jim's  senior  by  five  years,  but  the  sense  of 
the  ugly  boy's  greatness  and  wealth  overtopped  pride 
of  age,  aid  put  all  Edward's  affability  at  his  brother's 
disposal.  They  soon  entered  the  little  shop  under  the 
sign,  **Mary  Meeks,  Baker  and  Confectioner." 

* '  Miss  Meeks,  can  you  deliver  me  six  dollars  and 
eight  cents'  worth  of  molasses  candy  by  three  o'clock 
to-morrow  afternoon  ?  ' '  asked  Jim  with  dignity. 

*  *  Six  dollars  and  eight  cents'  worth  of  molasses 
candy  !"  Miss  Meeks  almost  shrieked. 

**  That  is  my  order,"  replied  Jim  composedly.  **  If 
you  think  you  can't  fill  it  why,  then " 

"But  it's  such  a  tur'ble  lot!"  she  interrupted. 
"  Whatever  are  you  going  to  do  with  all  that  taffy? " 

**  Well,  I  do  not  wish  to  seem  rude.  Miss  Meeks,  but 
I  prefer  to  say  nothing  about  that  this  evening. ' '  Jim' s 
deliberation  in  speaking  was  very  impressive — he  had 
wisely  cultivated  that  manner. 

'•But,  Mr.  Edward,"  she  turned  to  the  elder 
brother,  "it's  such  a  monstrous  lot !  We  don't  sell  as 
much  molasses  candy  as  that  in  six  months.  Lemme 
see — why,  it's  near  forty  pounds  ;  for  of  course  I'd 
make  the  price  wholesale,  (ioodness'  sakes  !  Forty 
pounds  of  taffy  !  " 


h 


40 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


**Oh,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  My  brother 
knows  his  own  business.  He's  going  to  pay  for  it  him- 
self, you  know, ' '  said  Edward.  *  *  But  perhaps  you 
can't  make  so  much  by  to-morrow  ?  " 

**  I  must  have  it  to-morrow,  for  to-morrow  is  Satur- 
day," said  Jim.  m  .  <{ 

**Oh,  well,  we'll  make  it  all  right  enough,  but  I 
guess  it'll  keep  us  all  pulling  from  now  out.  Oh,  yes, 
we  can  make  it,  we'll  be  glad  to  make  it." 

**Then  please  do  so.  Miss  Meeks,  and  deliver  it  at 
our  gate  not  later  than  three  o'clock,"  said  Jim,  with 
grave  politeness,  replacing  in  his  pocket  the  bills  he  had 
been  carelesslj-  handling.  He  had  already  changed  the 
five  for  ones.     The  sum  felt  larger  in  this  shape. 

No  one  who  was  not  in  or  about  Colonel  Thatcher's 
front  yard  next  day  can  imagine  how  great  and  friendly 
Jim  was. 

**Pud  Latimer,"  said  he,  climbing  on  top  of  the 
picket  fence  and  smiling  amiably  at  the  assembly,  *  *  are 
you  sure  that  all  your  friends  are  here  ?  Haven't  you 
forgotten  any  boys  or  girls  that  you  know  ?  " 

"  Naw,  I  hain't  forgot  none  of  'em.  They's  all 
here,  barrin*  the  widow  Murphy's  three  childer  that's 
sick,  and  Jan  Olsen's  one  that's  bedrid,  and  there's 
six  more  what  couldn't  come  because  they  had  to 
woik." 

Jim,  on  the  morning  of  that  eventful  day,  hafl  com- 
missioned Pud  to  drum  up  all  his  acquaintances.     Not 


?^ 


■f 


SENATOR   JIM'S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


41 


all 
It's 
re's 

to 

)m- 
Tot 


'.i 


that  there  was  need,  for  the  news  that  Jimmy  Thatcher 
was  going  to  treat  the  village  had  spread  far  and  wide. 

•'  Lay  aside  half  a  tin  for  the  absent  and  the  sick," 
said  Jim.  "I'll  carry  it  to  them  myself  after  this 
meeting.  Now,  Edward,  let  us  have  the  pleasure  of 
handing  the  taffy  out  to  our  friends. ' ' 

In  the  space  between  every  second  pair  of  pickets 
appeared  the  nose  and  eyes  of  a  boy  or  girl."  Jim's 
schoolmates  were  gathered  outside,  none  but  the  children 
of  the  Thatcher  family  being  admitted  to  the  labors  of 
distribution.  Jim  had  thought  of  giving  exclusive  places 
on  the  lawn  to  our  school.  '*  But  we  must  be  true  to 
the  great  principles  of  liberalism,"  he  finally  remarked. 
It  was  a  phrase  caught  from  his  Uncle  Daniel's  speech 
of  the  day  before. 

The  taffy,  duly  broken  into  fragments,  was  piled  on 
the  large  square  tin  platters  on  which  it  had  arrived, 
and  sheltered  from  the  sun  in  the  summer-house  nearest 
the  fence. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  Jim,  again  utilizing 
his  uncle's  speech,  "it  is  with  great  pride  and  pleasure 
that  I  appear  before  you.  I  hiave  long  looked  forward 
with  eagerness  to  this  occasion,  and  will  always  remem- 
ber this  as  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life.  We  will 
now  ask  you  to  keep  standing  just  as  you  are  till  those 
nearest  the  fence  are  served  with  some  of  our  excellent 
Miss  Meeks'  excellent  taffy — a  gifted  lady  who  does 
credit  to  our  prosperous  and  energetic  community." 


42 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    POTLATCH 


This  was  a  sudden  reminiscence  of  the  "Bugle's" 
I'eading  notice  which  accompanied  Miss  Meeks'  latest 
advertisement.  "Edward,  Lucy,  Richard,  Elvira, 
Peter,  George,  Samuel,"  here  Jim  turned  to  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  "  I  will  now  ask  you  to  be  good 
enough  to  assist  me  in  entertaining  our  young  friends." 

They  were  mostly  years  older  than  Jim,  but  none  of 
them  laughed  ;  his  demeanor  was  too  much  that  of  a 
great  functionary. 

'  •  The  order  of  proceedings  that  I  will  beg  you  to 
observe  is  this,"  said  Jim,  balancing  himself  steadily 
on  top  of  the  fence  and  crossing  the  forefingers  of  his 
two  hands  as  he  slowly  uttered  the  words.  "  Let  every 
lady  and  gentleman  be  true  to  themselves  and  their 
higher  nature,  and  when  they  receive  their  taffy  let 
them  retire  out  to  the  other  side  of  the  street  and  give 
other  ladies  and  gentlemen  a  chance  at  the  confection- 
ery." ^, 

At  this  Colonel  Thatcher,  who  with  his  wife  had  been 
watching   their   ugly   boy's   proceedings   through    the 
shutter   of  the   nearest   window,  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter    which    was    suddenly  smothered,    for   Mrs. 
Thatcher  placed  her  hand  over  the  colonel's  mouth. 

"Edwin,"  she  exclaimed,  "for  goodness'  sake 
don't  let  James  hear  you  laughing  at  him  !  He'd  be 
so  offended  !" 

Jim's  greatness  had  long  before  impressed  his  mother, 
and  she   stood  in  a  delighted  awe  of  him  from  that 


SENATOR   JIM  S    FIRST    I»OTLATCH 


43 


m*»;iiorable  day.  Fortunately  he  was  too  near  the  fence 
to  have  heard  more  than  his  fathe*-'*'  short  laugh.  At 
that  the  ugly  boy  half  turned  to  the  window,  bowing 
with  a  grand  sweep  of  his  hat. 

"My  parents,"  said  he,  "ladies  and  gentlemen, 
are  pleased  to  witness  our  little  festivity."  How  he 
mustered  up  the  large  words  and  the  experienced  air 
that  he  exhibited  that  day  has  always  puzzled  me,  but 
he  certainly  did  rise  mragnificently  to  the  occasion. 

After  that  we  distributed  the  taffy.  The  more  or 
less  dirty  hands  grabbed  it  eagerly  through  the  pickets, 
but  there  was  little  tumult  or  variation  from  the  order 
of  proceedings.  '  '  ■ 

,  Jim  gravely  directed  his  assistants.  "It's  Abe  Cor- 
nicle's turn  now,  Edward."  "  Now  help  Jenny  Sin- 
clair, my  dear  Elvira."  "A  little  more  to  Peter  Wil- 
kins,  please.'  Everything  went  on  with  solemnity. 
The  boy  had  imposed  his  authority  on  the  entire 
assembly,  and  Uncle  Daniel,  when  he  heard  of  the 
affair,  prophesied  that  Jim  would  make  an  excellent 
chairman. 

After  all  had  been  served,  even  to  the  third  helping, 
Jim,  while  the  outsiders  licked  their  fingers  and  watched 
the  Thatcher  children  through  the  pickets,  apportioned 
the  small  remnant  of  the  taffy  to  his  assistants,  stoically 
refusing  to  taste  of  it  himself.  This  supernatural  un- 
selfishness was  too  much  for  Pud  Latimer. 

*  *  Look   a  here  !  "   he  protested .      '  *  This   ain'  t  no 


\ 


44 


SENATOR  JIM  S   FIRST    POTLATCH 


fair  shake.  This  here  taffy's  taffy  from  Taffyville  ! 
Say  !  You  ain't  goin'  to  give  every  scrap  away,  Jim 
Thatcher?" 

Jim  smiled  benevolently  but  with  firm  refusal.  It 
was  hard,  for  he  had  a  sweet  tooth,  but  his  refusal  stood 
till  Pud  broke  into  a  howl  as  the  Thatcher  children  con- 
sumed the  last  morsels. 

"Look  here!  Say!  I've  had  five  helpin's — take 
some  of  this  here  ! ' '  Pud  extracted  from  his  trousers 
pocket  a  mass  wrapped  in  newspaper,  and  thrust  it 
through  the  pickets. 

At  that  Jim  relaxed.  '*  If  it's  any  pleasure  to  you. 
Pud,"  said  he,  and  calmly  took  one  bite  from  the 
portion  of  the  raggedest  boy  of  possible  boys. 
"Thank  you,  very  much.  Pud,"  said  he,  with  his 
mouth  full,  bowing  and  retiring. 

It  was  top  sublime,  and  the  crowd  felt  it.  "  Hooray 
for  Jim  Thatcher  !  "  they  yelled.  "  Hooray  !  hooray  ! 
hooray  ' ' '  and  went  cheering  down  the  street  to  vaunt 
our  ugly  boy. 

"That  potlatch,"  Senator  Jim  says  himself,  "was 
the  beginning  of  my  popularity.  It  seems  to  me  I  was 
always  appreciated  and  always  called  Mr.  Jim  after 
that.  And  it's  the  only  time  I  ever  gave  taffy  to  the 
multitude — I  hope." 


A 


IN  FULL  FLOOD 


FRANK  BURGESS,  when  I  knew  him  first,  was  a 
handsome,  wholesome,  alert  young  civil  engineer, 
loved  by  all  who  knew  him.  Was  any  man  in  the  office 
sick  or  wanting  a  holiday,  Frank  did  the  absentee's 
work  cheerfully.  He  would  mend  any  child's  toy  on 
demand,  and  carry  any  workwoman's  bundle,  and  giv6 
his  last  quarter  to  relieve  distress. 

Whether  in  work  or  play  he  was  glad.  Many  men, 
when  in  unusually  good  spirits,  are  bores,  but  Frank 
never  jarred  on  one's  nerves.  I  have  seen  him  on  keen 
winter  days,  make  a  joy  of  every  breath  exhaled,  "^ 
watching  each  little  white  cloud  from  his  lips  as  though 
it  were  a  novel  toy.  *■ 

And  well  I  remember  how,  waked  by  exulting  song- 
sters, I  rose  once  to  catch  all  the  dim  enchantments  of 
a  summer  dawn,  and  found  Frank,  high  up  in  an  oak, 
whistling  the  merriest  note  of  the  morning. 

He  changed  sadly  in  after  years.  I  do  not  know 
what  was  at  the  root  of  that  change,  for  I  had  left  Bran- 
dleton  before  it  occurred.  Some  said  that  a  taste  for 
liquor  had  overmastered  him.  Others  said  that  he  was 
never  the  same  man  after   his  elder    brother,   Lewis, 

45 


'^ 


46 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


began  to  court  Mary  Hradshaw.  Lewis  did  not  seem 
to  know  that  Frank  had  seemed  fond  of  Mary,  and 
Frank  ceasing  his  wooing  when  the  intentions  of  his 
brother  became  town  talk.  Mary  married  the  eldt?r 
brother  within  a  year.  After  that  Frank  was  often 
flushed  with  drink,  and  his  gayety  took  a  hollow  ring. 

Now  Lewis  Burgess  was  a  good  man,  pious,  decorous, 
and  stern.  So  it  came  about  that  he  often  took  F'rank 
to  task  about  his  new  ways,  and  in  the  end  there  was 
a  complete  rupture  between  the  brothers,  who  had 
loved  each  other  the  more  dearly  because  they  had  no 
other  relatives  in  that  countryside. 

One  who  overheard  the  final  quarrel,  if  quarrel  it 
could  be  called,  told  me  that  Lewis  began  by  expostu- 
lation. 

"Can  you  not  battle  with  the  craving,  Frank?" 
said  he.      "  Resist  the  devil  and  he  will  flee  from  you." 

"It's  not  a  craving,  Lewis,"  said  the  younger. 

"How  then?" 

"  It  gives  me  a  light  heart  again  sometimes,  I  think," 
said  Frank. 

"  But  it  gives  me  a  heavy  one,"  answered  the  other 
sadly ;  *  *  and  it  will  destroy  you  soon.  Leave  the  ac- 
cursed thing  !  I  am  determined  that  you  shall.  You 
must  come  and  live  with  me. " 

"  Impossible,"  exclaimed  Frank. 

"Why  ?  There  is  plenty  of  room  in  our  house,  and 
I  am  sure  Mary  would  be  delighted.     Now  I  think  of  it. 


II 


<  'I 


\         f' 


r 


IN    FULL    FLOOD  47 

/ 

you  have  never  been  to  see  us  but  once  since  we  mar- 
ried." ^ 

**  I  never  shall  go  again,"  answered  Frank  in  a  tone 
that  Lewis  mistook  for  an  offensive  one.  With  that 
he  became  angry,  thinking  his  brother  was  bent  on  a 
(juarrel,  and  said  severe  things,  to  which  the  young 
fellow  made  no  answer. 

"  1  invite  you  once  more,"  spoke  the  grave  man, 
in  conclusion,  '*  to  become  a  member  of  my  household, 
where  Christian  influences  will  help  you  to  withstand 
the  enemy.  Consider  well,  and  answer  me  to-morrow. 
If  you  refuse  I  shall  understand  that  you  have  deliber- 
ately abandoned  yourself  to  Satan  and  cast  me  off  as  a 
stranger.  Yes,  and  a  stranger  I  will  be  to  you  there- 
after." 

**  No,  Lewis,  don't  say  that!  You  cannot  under- 
stand," answered  Frank  piteously.  • 

But  at  that  Lewis  walked  away,  and  Frank,  giving  a 
deep  groan  as  his  brother  turned  the  corner,  went 
straight  to  the  nearest  tavern. 

He  was  reeling  drunk  that  afternoon  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life.  He  kept  on  drinking  for  a  week,  and  from 
that  through  long  years  the  brothers  were  never  known 
to  speak. 

Frank,  going  from  bad  to  worse,  lost  his  position, 
lost  his  character,  lost  all  regard  for  himself,  and  when 
I  returned  to  Brandleton  at  the  end  of  eight  years 
was  the  sot  and  jest  of  the  town.     The  change  in  him 


48 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


was  shocking  to  behold,  though  he  was  still  a  handsome 
man  and  vigorous,  for  even  liquor  had  not  yet  destroyed 
the  beauty  of  those  regular  features,  nor  greatly  wrecked 
the  strength  of  that  perfect  and  muscular  frame. 

*'  No,  you  must  not  shake  hands  with  me,"  he  said. 
**  Nobody  does  ;  'tisn't  respectable.  Go  away.  I'm  be- 
yond helping. ' '  He  would  not  look  me  in  the  eye, 
nor  take  the  work  I  offered  him  in  my  own  town. 

*  *  Too  late, ' '  he  said.  *  *  I  should  do  no  better  there. 
No,  I  can't  tell  you  why.  You  could  not  understand 
it  all.  Nothing  but  the  body  of  the  man  you  knew  is 
here — and  the  memory.  The  soul  is  gone  and  the 
spring  broken. ' ' 

I  was  thirty-five  then,  hardened  to  the  world,  but 
when  I  left  poor  Frank  I  could  almost  have  cried  from 
pure  sorrow. 

The  Brandleton  Town  Council  had  telegraphed  for 
me  to  come  and  advise  concerning  the  strengthening  of 
their  new  bridge  against  an  unusually  high  spring  flood. 
When  I  looked  at  the  river  it  seemed  a  strange  stream, 

m 

SO  much  greater  was  its  volume  than  any  I  had  ever 
seen  between  those  banks,  and  so  vast  the  mass  of  its 
driftwood.  Too  much  of  the  waterway  was  occupied 
by  the  new  piers  which,  placed  too  close  together  and 
acting  like  a  dam,  piled  the  river  up  between  its  high 
shores  so  that  the  flood,  usually  smooth,  took  a  slight 
slope  just  before  reaching  the  bridge,  and  sweeping  be- 
neath it  broke  into  foam  on  meeting  the  still  reach  be- 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


49 


low.  Half  a  mile  up  was  an  arable  island  of  some  four 
hundred  acres,  which  I  remembered  as  having  bluff 
edges.     Now  it  was  but  a  few  feet  out  of  water. 

**  Why,  there  are  buildings  on  it ! "  said  I,  in  sur- 
prise, to  the  mayor. 

"Yes,  Lewis  Burgess  bought  it  some  years  ago,"  he 
replied;  "and  those  are  his  barns  and  house.  If  the 
water  rises  much  more,  his  property  may  suffer. ' ' 

*  *  Is  he  there  now  ?  ' ' 

**Yes,  with  his  wife  and  two  children.  His  hired 
men  live  on  the  other  side.  Burgess  thinks  he  is  in  no 
danger,  and  the  water  was  never  yet  known  to  be  over 
his  island. ' ' 

Then  the  mayor  went  on  to  explain  his  belief  that  the 
bridge  was  safe,  unless  a  boom  some  thirty  miles  above 
Brandleton  should  break,  and  letting  its  sawlogs  go, 
jeopardize  the  structure  by  battering  or  forming  a  jam. 
To  lose  it  would  be  a  grave  inconvenience  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  town,  the  site  of  which  takes  in  land 
on  both  sides  the  Maskadeesis. 

I  at  once  ordered  the  convenient  distribution  of  a 
considerable  quantity  of  timber,  certain  long  spars, 
ropes,  and  other  material  owned  by  the  corporation, 
and  likely  to  be  useful.  The  work  was  done  before 
dark,  and  that  night  I  was  engaged  till  late  in  ponder- 
ing over  the  professional  question. 

About  midnight  a  telegram  from  Wales  Landing, 
twenty-five  miles  up  river,  informed  us  that  the  North 


50 


IN    FULL   FLOOD 


Water  was  coming  down,  and  the  stream  rising  more 
rapidly  than  ever.  Going  out  once  more  to  look  at 
the  flood,  I  found  many  people  on  the  bridge  and  its 
approaches,  shivering  as  they  listened  to  the  gradually 
increasing  roar. 

Below  the  piers  the  white  roll  of  breakers,  distinctly 
more  heavy  than  those  of  the  afternoon,  could  be  seen 
by  the  moonlight.  Using  two  locomotive  headlights 
to  scan  the  river's  surface,  I  could  make  out  no  change 
in  the  character  of  the  driftwood  ;  it  still  consisted 
mainly  of  bark,  slabs,  branches,  cord-wood,  small 
trunks,  stumps,  and  such  matter,  of  no  important  bat- 
tering power. 

From  Lewis  Burgess'  house  on  the  island  came 
gleams  of  many  lights  ;  it  was  clear  that  the  family  were 
not  sleeping.  No  more  was  the  town,  for  on  both 
sides  of  that  swift  flood  were  hundreds  of  illuminated 
windows. 

•  Going  back  to  the  hotel  I  halted  by  the  open  bar- 
room door,  whence  came  a  well-remembered  voice  in 
clear  song.  It  was  the  voice  of  poor  Frank,  who  was 
amusing  a  vile  audience  with  what  was  to  me  a  dread- 
ful simulation  of  his  old-time  gayety. 

Close  to  my  ear  next  morning  my  landlord's  voice 
shouted,  "Wake  up,  sir!  wake  up!  The  boom's 
broke  !  "  J«nd  shaken  by  the  shoulder,  I  sprang  from 
bed  to  floor.  While  hastily  dressing  I  heard  a  strange 
roar,  as  of  a   steady,    mighty   wind,    from   the  river. 


•  r 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


51 


Though  the  sun  was  not  up  when  I  reached  the  street, 
streams  of  people,  some  throwing  on  or  buttoning  their 
clothes  as  they  ran,  were  making  for  the  bridge. 

Both  banks  and  many  housetops  were  crowded  with 
townsmen,  all  gazing  intently  toward  Burgess  Island. 

''There's  a  jam  forming  at  the  head,"  said  the 
mayor,  when  I  reached  him,  "  though  the  logs  are  not 
down  there  yet." 

Since  midnight  the  Maskadeesis  had  become  in- 
describably more  formidable.  Mingled  with  such  small 
stuff  as  had  then  been  running  were  now  heavy  masses 
of  broken  bridge  and  wharf  timber,  huge  stumps  and 
trunks  of  Q;reat  trees,  with  tops  and  roots  high  out  of 
water,  wb  looked  as  though  the  hurrying  torrent  had 
torn  thei  .  .v^iently  from  its  shores.  One  of  these  great 
trees,  coming  broadside  against  a  pier,  hung  balanced  ; 
its  root,  caught  now  by  the  force  of  the  swift  slope, 
bore  downward  ;  while,  bending,  groaning,  and  dash- 
ing, the  spreading  top  was  pushed  up  against  the  current ; 
then  the  root  floated  higher,  escaped  the  torrent's  grip 
<  somewhat,  and,  with  fearful  straining  and  gyrations  was 
thrust  up  stream  as  the  top  swayed  down. 

Lest  a  jam  should  form  against  this  breakwater  I  sent 
.  a  man  down  the  pier's  face  to  cut  the  trunk.  He  had 
not  struck  a  dozen  strokes  when  the  immense  tree 
broke  with  a  report  like  rifled  cannon,  and  the  ends 
released  rushed  over  the  swift  slope  each  side  of  the 
pier. 


«^- 


52 


IN    FULL   FLOOD 


It  was  clear  that  wide  and  sudden  inundation  had 
occurred  in  the  primeval  forest  whence  the  North  Water 
came,  for  many  of  the  largest  trunks  carried  freight  of 
wild  beasts — foxes,  wolves,  lynxes,  and  bears.  Perhaps 
the  strangest  thing  seen  on  that  tragic  morning  was  the 
curious  treadmill  in  which  one  of  these  bears  worked. 
It  was  formed  by  a  huge  tree,  which  because  the 
greatest  weight  of  its  roots  was  on  the  side  opposite  the 
greatest  weight  of  its  branches,  rolled  slowly  back  and 
forth  as  it  came,  with  an  ever-varying,  eccentric  motion, 
according  to  the  nature  of  the  current,  so  that  the  brown 
bear  was  compelled  to  crawl  to  and  fro  constantly, 
with  many  a  stagger  and  many  a  dip. 

One  wolf,  cowering  near  a  high  root,  was  shot  dead 
by  a  marksman  ashore,  and  so  much  like  murder 
seemed  the  killing  of  that  defenseless,  imprisoned  felon 
of  the  woods,  that  a  loud  groan  went  up  from  the 
crowd,  and  thereafter  the  beasts  were  allowed  to  float 
on  to  whatever  doom  the  flood  might  bear  them. 
How  they  fared  as  they  passed  through  the  chutes  be- 
tween the  piers,  no  man  could  tell  me  afterward,  for 
every  eye  was  almost  constantly  directed  upward  to 
catch  the  first  view  of  the  coming  logs. 

Burgess  Island  had  now  no  shore  line.  Its  position 
was  marked  by  the  buildings,  by  a  huddled  group  of 
field  animals,  horses,  cattle,  and  sheep,  by  the  figure 
of  a  wading  man  passing  from  building  to  building,  and 
by  the  calmness  of  the  shallow  over  the  island's  area, 


1 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


53 


around  which  the  river  raged  in  two  rough  branches. 
Above  the  island  the  water  was  obviously  somewhat 
backed  up,  and  I  could  perceive  that  trees  and  other 
drifting  wood  had  gathered  about  the  head,  forming 
one  of  those  unaccountable  "jams"  which  often  break 
away  disastrously.  This  jam,  rising  with  the  water 
that  it  forced  up,  was  now  some  feet  above  the  river 
surface  on  the  submerged  island,  and  extended  like 
wing  dams  on  each  side. 

Under  the  bridge  piers  the  furious  rush  momentarily 
increased.  Turning  my  attention  to  this,  I  looked  no 
more  toward  the  island  till  a  sudden  shout  arose,  *'  The 
logs  ! ' '  And  there  they  came,  the  van  of  their  array 
streaming  loosely  down  the  channels  by  the  island. 

Climbing  to  the  top  of  the  truss,  so  that  I  could  see 
far  up  river,  its  whole  surface  seemed  covered  with  logs 
lying  close  together,  as  if  massed  for  attack. 

While  1  gazed,  the  dam  above  Burgess  Island  par- 
tially broke  away,  and  a  sheet  of  water,  leaving  the 
floating  stuff  behind,  hurried  down  upon  the  farm.  It 
whirled  away  the  unresisting  sheep  at  a  breath  ;  it  soon 
swept  down  too,  the  struggling  cattle  and  plunging 
horses.  Then  came  the  drift  and  logs  like  battering- 
rams  against  the  distant  barns,  which,  with  a  flying  loose 
of  boards  and  rafters,  fell  in,  all  silently  to  our  ears,  and 
were  hurled  toward  the  frame  house. 

But  the  house  rose  with  the  stream  which  passed 
freely  beneath  its  piled  foundation.      It  came,  well  sup- 


54 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


ported  by  its  lower  flooring,  floating  clear  of  the  pursuing 
timber,  and  bringing  up  the  rear  of  an  immense  mass 
of  debris^  which  was  now  being  driven  into  closer  forma- 
tion. The  house  swung  slowly  around,  settling  down  for 
some  minutes,  then  moved  on  toward  the  bridge,  with 
the  side  presented  to  us,  much  tilted  up. 

Soon  a  scuttle  in  the  roof  was  flung  up,  and  Lewis 
Burgess  appearing,  lifted  out  upon  the  shingles  his  wife 
and  children.  They  clung  together  in  attitudes  of  ex- 
treme terror,  while  a  dog  that  had  sprung  out  after 
them,  ran  back  and  forth  from  eaves  to  ridge,  pausing 
at  each  edge  as  if  about  to  leap,  and  again  cowering 
back  to  resume  his  search  for  a  safer  venture. 

From  the  crowded  banks  and  housetops  of  Brandleton 
went  up  a  shout  of  horror  as  the  family  appeared,  and 
many  strong  men  ran  wildly  to  and  fro,  as  if  in  despair 
of  finding  help  for  the  helpless.  To  reach  them  through 
the  drifting  masses  was  beyond  possibility,  and  it  looked 
as  though  nothing  could  be  done  but  watch  them  drift 
to  the  death  that  inevitably  awaited  them,  if  the  house, 
wedged  in  with  groaning  trees  and  shooting  timber, 
should  slide  down  madly  between  the  piers  and  crash  ' 
against  the  girders  as  it  flew. 

A  large  group  of  men  stood  watching  me  after  I  de- 
scended, as  though  expecting  directions  for  a  rescue, 
and  I,  without  an  idea,  could  only  look  despairingly  at 
the  rapidly  approaching  house.  Ready  to  be  com- 
manded by  any  one  with  sense  and  meaning,  their  eyes 


\ 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


55 


•> 


.  / 


held  me  responsible  for  the  proper  use  of  their  strength 
and  good-will. 

.  Even  while  I  stood  with  that  dismayed  sense  of  being 
held  accountable,  a  new  sound  rose  above  the  din  of  the 
waters,  and  looking  over  the  upper  edge  of  the  bridge, 
I  saw  that  the  bridge  was  threatened  once  more.  An 
immense  tree,  a  very  thir^'^  .nd  long  pine,  had  lodged 
against  the  pier  nea:^     the     )rthern  abutmen^ 

So  close  together  was  the  drift  now  packed  that  this 
pine,  caught  midway,  did  not  teeter  with  and  against 
^the  stream,  because,  almost  on  the  instant  of  its  lodg- 
ment, it  was  submitted  to  the  strain  of  a  drive  of  smaller 
trees  and  bridge  and  wharf  wreck,  which,  struggling  to 
pass  the  big  tree,  were  held  back  against  the  surface  of 
the  river.  There  was  crunching  and  groaning  in  the 
restrained  mass,  upending  of  slabs  and  thrashing  about 
of  stumps  ;  the  big  pine  bent,  its  huge  branches  were 
partly  rent  away,  every  instant  I  expected  to  hear  the 
loud  report  of  its  crack  and  break. 

But  still  it  held,  and  very  soon  the  checked  driftwood 
a  short  distance  up  stream  was  much  wider  than  its 
base  as  formed  by  the  straining  pine.  The  jam  so 
much  dreaded  by  the  town  councilors  of  Brandleton 
was  forming  beneath  our  eyes  with  astonishing  speed, 
and  unless  -it  could  be  broken  the  bridge  would  cer- 
tainly go. 

All  this  had  happened  in  the  short  space  of  time 
while  I  was  hurrying  an  active  man  down  the  face  of 


56 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


I 


the  pier  to  cut  the  lodged  tree.  Before  he  could  strike, 
even  while  he  was  steadying  himself  for  the  first  blow, 
a  voice  from  my  side  interposed. 

*  *  Not  a  stroke  ! ' '  shouted  Frank  Burgess,  with  a 
clear  cry  that  was  heard  above  all  other  sounds,  and 
clambering,  or  rather  tumbUng  recklessly  down  the 
face  of  the  pier,  he  laid  hands  on  the  axe,  and  tearing 
it  from  the  gnisp  of  the  astonished  man,  he  turned  to 
me. 

With  his  intense  excitement  almost  every  trace  of  his 
degradation  had  vanished  from  his  face,  and  so  natural, 
so  confident,  so  imperative  did  he  look  that  I  uttered 
not  a  word  of  protest. 

'*  Pray  God  that  a  jam  may  form  !  "  he  shouted,  re- 
turning hastily  to  the  roadway.  "It's  the  only  chance 
to  save  them  I ' '  and  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  ad- 
vancing house. 

It  was  drifting  now,  not  more  than  two  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  distant,  with  the  outer  or  southerly  stream  of 
timber  and  wreck  that  came  pouring  in  two  columns 
around  the  blocked  mass. 

The  family,  still  clinging  together,  had  fallen  to  their 
knees  as  if  in  prayer,  and  still  the  white  dog  inquiringly 
looked  down,  cowered,  shrank  back,  and  so  ran  pite- 
ously  from  edge  to  edge  of  the  roof. 

Then,  as  if  by  magic,  a  jam  was  completed  between 
the  northern  abutment  and  the  second  pier,  for  an  array 
of  heavy  trees  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  packing  timber 


I ;  ■ 


n 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


57 


had,  by  the  pressure,  become  in  a  manner  locked  to- 
gether, and  these,  coming  sidewise  against  the  second 
pier,  stopped,  and,  being  swept  in,  were  straightway 
firmly  connected  with  the  butt  of  the  big  pine. 

When  this  had  occurred  the  jam,  after  extending  its 
up-stream  face,  slowly  swung  northward  and  soon  blocked 
the  open  space  between  the  north  abutment  and  the 
first  pier.  Every  front  stick  was  a  keystick,  as  all  will 
understand  who  have  seen  one  of  those  astonishing  sud- 
den formations  that  Northern  lumbermen  call  timber- 
jams,  structures  so  totally  beyond  human  contrivance 
that  their  creation  is  always  inexplicable,  yet  of  frequent 
occurrence  on  swift  and  heavily  timbered  streams. 

The  house  was  now  nearly  motionless  in  the  surround- 
ing float-wood,  which  moved  gradually  down,  packing 
ever  more  closely,  the  lighter  stuff  thrusting  up,  falling 
back,  or  hurrying  under ;  the  ends  of  the  various 
long  timbers  taking  a  direction  across  the  current  with 
the  pressure  of  the  logs,  which  soon,  however,  began  to 
run  swiftly  round  the  south  or  outer  edge  of  the  jam 
with  the  gradually  rising  water.  .    n 

Now  the  house  apparently  became  stationary,  then 
moved  forward  again  with  the  rearrangement  of  the 
pack,  only  to  stop  once  more.  Once,  as  it  thus  brought 
up  against  the  drift  in  front,  the  white  dog  leaped  from 
the  roof,  and  successfully  obtaining  a  footing,  began  to 
make  his  way,  with  frequent  cowering  halts,  ashore. 

At  that,  Lewis  Burgess,  rising,  scanned  the  drift  as 


$8 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


if  planning  for  a  dtsi-ierate  attempt,  while  his  wife  and 
children  stood  shuddering  and  clutching  him. 

I  could  plainly  see,  though  not  hear,  that  they  were 
shrieking,  for  now  the  house  had  come  within  less  than 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  bridge.  Every  moment  I  ex- 
pected to  see  it  collapse,  x>t  whirl  away  with  the  jam 
which  might  at  any  instant  rush  on  with  speed  more 
rapid  than  that  of  its  formation ;  or  the  north  end  of 
the  bridge,  now  acting  as  a  dam  and  forcing  the  river 
up,  might  be  swept  away,  a  danger  so  obvious  that  most 
of  the  spectators  had  run  ashore. 

During  these  few  minutes  of  breathless  expectation, 
watching  the  house  and  the  river  intently,  I  was  so  ab- 
sorbed by  the  imminent  tragedy  that  I  had  not  cast 
another  glance  at  Frank.  Now  a  hoarse  shout  rose  as  if 
at  once  from  all  the  people  of  Brandleton,  who  stood 
upon  the  river  banks,  the  housetops,  and  the  bridge. 
Looking  around  for  its  cause  my  eye  fell  on  Frank 
Burgess.  :  -         '  :    ' 

In  one  hand  he  carried  a  hooked  pulley-block,  in  the 
other  a  light  line  ;  he  was  making  his  way  from  the 
bridge  toward  the  house  right  over  the  drift  !  Already 
he  was  twenty-five  yards  on  his  perilous  journey. 

His  scheme  was  clear  at  a  glance  ;  the  line  he  drew 
ran  through  a  pulley  lashed  to  the  upper  member  of 
the  bridge  truss,  and  was  well  spliced  into  the  end  of  a 
coil  of  new  inch  rope — all  being  part  of  the  material  I 
had  sent  upon  the  bridge  the  evening  before.     I  drew 


\ 


IN     FULL    FLOOD 


59 


close  to  assist  the  brave  fellows  who  stood  ready  to  help 
out  his  desperate  adventure. 

After  that  first  loud  shout  of  admiration  not  a  sound 
except  the  groan  and  yell  of  the  river  was  heard  as  he 
struggled  on  his  fearful  way,  knowing  that  a  move- 
ment of  the  float-wood  might  sink  him,  or  a  sudden 
rush  of  the  whole  jam  smash  him  in  an  instant  out  of 
the  semblance  of  humanity. 

What  a  path  !  From  tree  to  timber,  from  timber  to 
wreckage,  often  making  little  detours,  now  rising  on  a 
swaying  root,  now  cautiously  descending,  he  went, 
trailing  the  light  line,  sometimes  stopping  and  looking 
back  to  shake  it  straight  that  it  might  not  become  en- 
tangled.     -^  ' 

Once  a  tree,  as  he  walked  along  it,  turned,  but  he 
deftly  kept  his  foothold  and  continued  to  use  it  for  his 
journey.  Sometimes  all  about  him  drifted  down  a  little, 
and  he  with  it,  coolly  hauling  in  slack,  watchful  of  all. 
About  three  quarters  of  the  journey  was  done  when  he 
paused,  paused  long,  looking  around  as  the  dog  had 
looked  around  on  his  passage  ashore — seeking  a  way  of 
safety,  the  poor  hero,  cautious  because  he  carried  those 
other  lives  in  his  hand  ! 

While  he  halted  I  looked  once  more  to  the  family  on 
the  roof.  Lewis  Burgess,  face  half  averted,  hands 
wrung  together  tightly  at  his  chin  as  though  in  a  mighty 
strife  of  prayer,  stood  gazing  at  his  brother  with  a  quite 
indescribable  attitude  of  anguish,  pity,  and  hope.     His 


6o 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


wife,  now  again  on  her  knees,  the  unheeded  children 
clinging  about  her,  stared  upon  the  advancing  rescuer, 
both  hands  pressed  to  her  ears,  as  though  rigid  with  fear 
to  hear  the  last  cry  of  one  dearly  loved. 

Frank  paused  and  went  aside,  returned  as  if  balked, 
tried  the  other  direction,  retraced  his  steps  again,  and 
then,  with  a  gesture  of  agony,  looked  up  at  those  whom 
he  was  attempting  to  save. 

Lewis  Burgess,  gazing  at  his  brother,  shook  his  head 
as  if  in  despair,  and  motioned  as  one  might  in  saying, 
' '  Go  back,  it  is  impossible  ! ' ' 

The  next  moment  Frank,  after  drawing  in  slack  and 
laying  it  at  his  feet,  plunged  straight  forward. 

Down  !  Yes,  but  up  once  more  !  Again  down — 
no,  not  gone — half  sunken  only  !  Up  again  !  and  now 
he  threw  himself  forward  on  the  windrovr  of  edged-up 
slabs,  till,  scrambling,  plunging,  and  with  i^ighty  effort, 
hf;  gained  the  tree  above  that  treacherous  surface. 

Now  again  arose  that  astounding  shout  above  the 
roar  of  the  torrent  which  drove  through  the  piers  on 
the  south  shore.  Poor  old  Frank  !  the  applause  of  his 
fellow-townsmen  must  have  been  very  sweet  to  him,  so 
long  an  outcast,  for  as  he  struggled  on  he  raised  the 
hand  with  the  line  to  his  head,  and  taking  off  his  dilap- 
idated old  hat  raised  and  waved  it  with  a  delighted  ges- 
ture in  response.  . 

In  a  few  moments  more  he  stood  by  the  house  look- 
ing upward.     We  could  understand  what  he  called  to 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


6l 


his  brother,  for  the  family  descended  through  the  scuttle 
again.  Lewis,  appearing  at  an  upper  window,  caught 
the  line  as  it  was  thrown,  and  after  hauling  in  its  whole 
light  length  began  to  pull  the  rope  over  the  bridge. 

Frank,  climbing  up  on  a  plank,  while  again  the 
mighty  shout  arose,  got  through  a  window.  Knocking 
a  hole  through  the  side  wall  he  then  tied  the  main  rope 
firmly  to  a  heavy,  upright  timber  of  the  old-fashioned 
frame,  first  running  it  through  the  pulley-block,  to 
which  he  fastened  the  middle  of  the  light  line. 

In  five  minutes  Mrs.  Burgess  and  the  children, 
drawn  to  the  bridge  in  a  blanket  suspended  froni  the 
pulley-hook,  exactly  as  shipwrecked  passengers  are  often 
rescued,  were  received  by  glad  arms. 

While  we  were  hauling  these  helpless  ones  in,  Frank 
and  Lewis  stood  at  the  window  hand-in-hand.  Then, 
after  hauling  back  the  blanket,  Lewis,  who  was  a  heavy 
man,  came  to  the  now  sorely  tried  bridge,  Frank  having 
insisted  that  he  should  go  first.  Then  the  hero  began 
to  draw  in  the  line  for  his  own  salvation. 

You  can  conceive  how  the  people  watched  him,  sick- 
hearted  with  fear  lest  the  bridge  should  give  way  and 
release  the  now  terrific  jam — you  can  conceive  i.ov,  they 
yearned  and  prayed  ! 

Well,  their  prayers  were  not  disappointed.  He  was 
saved,  saved  from  the  river,  saved  from  worse  than  the 
river,  for  that  day  he  was  rescued  from  himself  and  his 
past. 


^ 


62 


IN    FULL    FLOOD 


Lewis,  receiving  him  as  he  landed,  literally  fell  upon 
his  brother's  neck  and  wept.  Afterward  we  carried 
them  both  ashore,  shoulder-high,  among  the  thronging, 
cheering,  and  weeping  people — just  in  time  too,  for 
within  five  minutes  the  piers  gave  way,  and  driftwood, 
bridge,  house,  and  all,  "battlement  and  plank  and 
pier,  went  whirling  to  the  sea." 

What  became  of  Frank  ?  Why,  he  is  happily  mar- 
ried, has  four  pretty  children,  is  mayor  of  Brandleton 
and  chief  engineer  of  the  Cuniake  and  Brandleton  Rail- 
way. If  you  go  to  his  flourishing  town  you  may  dis- 
cover that  this  story  is  in  po  way  exaggerated,  though 
they  may  tell  it  to  you  with  different  names. 


=v|. 


# 


/ 


Vni 


A  BERSERKER  OF  COPAGONG 


^^ 


COPAGONG 
MILL  was 
short  of  hands,  and 
no  one  knew  it  bet- 
ter than  John  Bar- 
clay, for  two  mens' 
work  fell  to  him. 

*' And  why  not?" 
said  Pierre  Dubois, 
the  head  foreman. 
"You're   as  big  as 


two  men,  and  why  not 
do  two  mens'  work  ?  ' ' 


^ 


64 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


*  *  Give  me  two  mens'  pay,  then  ! ' '  said  John. 
"Who's  gettin'  bigger  pay  'n  what  you're  gettin'  ? 

Bagosh,  no  !  A  man's  got  a  right  to  hump  hisse'f  for 
the  Concern  where  he's  well  used.  It's  only  for  a 
week,  anyhow." 

Especially  by  the  "bagosh,"  Pierre  betrayed  his 
nationality  as  French-Canadian,  and  none  but  Cana- 
dians can  quite  understand  how  this  galled  John,  who 
was  tyler  or  doorkeeper  of  the  Copagong  Orange 
Lodge. 

John  had  been  for  two  days  taking  three-inch  planks 
from  the  circular  saw,  often  a  job  for  three  men,  and 
always  previously  for  two.  All  the  mill  hands  that 
could  be  spared  from  the  saws  were  out  on  the  piling- 
ground  shipping  stuff  to  meet  the  clamorous  demands 
of  a  new  railway ;  but  it  was  not  the  tax  on  his  huge 
strength  that  vexed  John. 

**  Was  there  ever  a  lazy  bone  in  me  body?  "  he  in- 
dignantly asked  his  wife  on  the  second  evening. 

*  *  Who  could  say  that,  John  ?  '  *  she  replied  proudly. 

"  I  dar'  them  !  "  rumbled  John.  **  No,  it's  the  in- 
justice of  it.  And  no  thanks  in  the  Pea-soup  that's  set 
foreman  over  us  !  Well,  let  him  see  where' s  the  one 
man  will  handle  his  planks  in  the  morning." 

**Ah,  now,  John,  don't  do  that !  Sure,  the  press 
will  be  soon  over,  and  your  job  easy  to  the  stren't'  of 
you  again." 

The  little  round  woman  tried  to  put  her  hands  up  to 


w 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


65 


his  face  to  soothe  him,  but  he  lifted  her  up  and  aside, 
and  set  her  on  top  of  a  high  chest  of  drawers,  all  quite 
without  violence  ;  then  went  tramping  away  up  the  saw- 
dust road  that  leads  to  '  Dolph  Bergeron's  tavern,  * '  The 
Lumberman's  Rest."  John  set  his  big  feet  down  so 
heavily  it  was  plain  he  intended  a  monstrous  spree. 

His  wife  and  son,  a  yellow-headed,  brawny  youth  of 
sixteen  years,  shut  themselves  in  and  sat  together,  silent 
as  if  there  were  death  in  the  house,  while  all  the  neigh- 
bors drifted  to  the  cabins  nearest  the  tavern.  There  the 
women  stayed,  but  the  men  went  on  to  see  "  the  holy 
terror" — that  was  the  only  expression  which  they 
thought  adequate  to  big  John  on  the  spree.  A  son  of 
his  employer,  a  youth  who  had  been  reading  Norse 
literature,  once  described  John  on  a  spree  as  **a 
drunken  Berserker,"  and  I  suppose  you  all  know  that 
the  Berserkers  were  uncommonly  strong,  eccentric,  and 
destructive  Vikings. 

When  John  left  Bergeron's  place  at  eleven  o'clock 
that  night  he  left  it  a  wreck.  He  had  smashed  the  big 
box-stove  with  one  downward  blow  from  the  side  of  his 
fist ;  he  had  kicked  the  bar  counter  almost  into  kindling 
wood ;  he  had  pitched  Bergeron  head  first  up  twelve 
feet  into  the  open  door  of  his  own  haymow  ;  he  had 
ended  by  lifting  a  barrel  of  whisky  to  drink  out  of  the 
bung,  and  then  throwing  it  through  a  partition.  Then, 
perfectly  senseless,  but  quite  steady  on  his  legs,  John 
allowed  himself   to  be  guided   to   his  home,  and   all 


i 


66 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


Copagong,  except  John's  wife,  went  to  sleep  till  the 
mill  whistle  screamed  before  daylight. 

At  half-past  ten  o'clock  next  day  John  awoke  to  con- 
sciousness that  he  had  been  crazy,  and  to  wonder  what 
he  had  done  the  night  before.  Perhaps  he  had  struck 
some  man  and  killed  him.  John  always  had  that  fear 
after  a  spree,  though  his  disposition  when  drunk  was 
merely  to  break  things  and  throw  people  around  as  a 
sort  of  huge  joke  if  they  interfered  with  his  herculean 
sportiveness.  He  could  not  remember  any  of  his  pro- 
ceedings after  the  diluted  high  wines  had  fairly  gotten 
into  his  head,  through  which  the  thundering  chug-chug 
of  the  gangsaws  and  the  fierce  whirring  of  the  circulars 
now  drove  knifelike  pain,  for  his  cabin  was  on  the  hill 
edge  nearest  the  mill. 

He  lay  still,  sick  with  shame  which  he  would  not  con- 
fess to  any  other  soul.  **  No  ;  he  would  let  'em  all  un- 
derstand he  had  done  just  right.  He  had  shown  that 
Pea-soup  foreman!  He'd  'learn'  the  Concern  not 
to  impose  on  a  man.  He'd  show  'em  that  if  the  gang 
was  short-handed  before,  it  would  be  shorter-handed 
with  John  Barclay  laid  off.  Hadn'  t  he  a  right  to  do 
just  what  he  pleased?  Let'em  give  him  the  sack  if 
they  dast ;  but  he  knew  well  they  dassent ;  they  was 
too  short-handed  ;  he  was  too  good  a  man  ! ' ' 

Moreover,  he  reckoned,  and  felt  cowardly  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart  to  reckon  so,  that  he  would  get 
full  benefit  of  the  indulgence  shown  to   drunkenness 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


67 


I 


in  that  rude  lumbering  country.  Bosses  regarded  it  as 
a  thing  to  be  expected,  like  floods  or  forest  fires,  and 
quite  as  incalculable  an  element  in  their  operations. 

In  the  short  intervals  of  silence  between  the  thump- 
ing gangsaws  and  the  shrieking  circulars  John  could 
hear  his  little  wife  moving  around  in  the  other  room. 
He  knew  she  would  not  give  him  one  cross  word,  no 
matter  what  he  had  done,  and  that  was  what  made  him 
so  afraid  to  get  up  and  face  her.  She  would  just  look 
at  him  kindly,  and  he  would  see  she  had  been  crying 
in  the  night.  Now  she  would  be  trying  to  smile  cheer- 
fully, and  that  always  made  him  feel  so  mean. 

But,  all  the  same,  he'd  go  up  to  Bergeron's  again, 
right  off  after  breakfast,  and  he'd  bet  that  a  big  bunch 
of  men  would  knock  off  and  join  him  at  noon.  Then 
the  gang  would  be  still  "short-handeder" — oh,  he'd 
show  the  Concern  if  they  could  put  a  "Pea-soup" 
foreman  on  top  of  loyal  Orangemen  ! 

John  was  horribly  thirsty  ;  but  he  was  still  too  much 
afraid  of  his  little  wife's  wan  smile  to  get  up,  or  call  for 
water.  There  he  lay,  listening  in  torture  and  obstinate 
Berserker  rage,  which  he  tried  to  direct  at  the  foreman, 
though  really  wholly  so  disgusted  with  himself  that  he 
could  not  express  and  dared  not  acknowledge,  the  feel- 
ing— that  feeling  which  might  drive  him,  as  it  often 
drove  the  old  Norse  Berserkers,  to  defiant  physical  vio- 
lence, lest  they  should  be  laughed  at  instead  of  feared 
after  they  had  fuddled  themselves  on  mead. 


68 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


Sometimes  John  could  hear  the  dull  movement,  the 
muffled,  crackling  sound  of  refuse  slabs  and  scantling 
on  their  way  to  the  great  iron  waste-burner  that  towers 
a  hundred  feet  above  Copagong  Mill.  This  refuse 
travels  in  a  wide  wooden  trough  set  on  an  inclined 
plane  ;  it  is  drawn  upward  through  the  trough  by  an 
endless  chain  of  flattened  links,  from  some  of  which 
short  iron  uprights  stand  to  force  the  waste  along. 

That  opening  by  which  the  refuse  enters  the  stack  is 
some  thirty  feet  above  the  fire,  which,  fed  continually 
by  fresh  material,  crackles  in  a  great  circular  chamber 
perhaps  forty  feet  wide.  As  John  thought  of  the 
tophet  usually  there,  he  asked  himself  whom  had 
Pierre  Dubois  put  to  tending  the  wgste-burner  to-day  ? 
That  set  John  to  thinking  of  his  own  son,  Billy.  There 
must  have  been  a  redistribution  of  work  on  account  of 
himself  being  off.  Now  he  had  previously  refused  to 
let  Billy  tend  the  waste-burner.  John  had  heard  of 
two  being  drawn  into  such  furnaces.  Stepping  into  the 
trough  to  disentangle  a  jam  of  the  waste  stufiF,  they  had 
somehow  got  their  feet  caught  in  the  endless  chain. 

That  Pea-soup  foreman  had  wished  Billy  to  keep  on 
at  the  job.  Perhaps  he  had  put  him  back  at  it  to-day 
in  rearranging  the  force  !  If  so — John  did  not  formu- 
late what  he  would  do  to  the  foreman,  but  certainly 
something  dreadful. 

Now  he  had  something  to  get  up  for.  So  he  lifted 
his  big  bulk  as  noiselessly  as  he  could  and  put  on  his 


I 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


69 


I 


boots,  of  which  his  wife  and  Billy  had  relieved  him. 
He  knew  his  wife  could  hear  him,  for  his  ears  told  him 
she  had  suddenly  put  the  frying-pan  on  the  stove  to 
cook  his  breakfast. 

John  resolved  to  wait  till  breakfast  was  ready,  for, 
thirsty  as  he  was,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  under  his  wife's 
kind  eye  one  moment  longer  than  he  must.  He  sat  on 
the  side  of  the  bed  till  he  heard  her  pouring  hot  water 
upon  the  tea  leaves  in  the  tin  pot.  With  that  he  rose, 
opened  the  door,  and  didn't  meet  her  eyes. 

**  Where's  Billy?  "  he  asked  gruffly. 
.  "Tending  the  waste-burner,  John." 

''He  is,  is  he?     I'll " 

"Oh,  John  dear,  don't  do  anything  hasty  !  It  had 
to  be  fixed  that  way.  Johnny  Larocque  was  took  ofif  the 
tendin'  because  he' s  used  to  the  sawin' ,  and  could  help 
to  take  your  place — there's  three  at  your  job  to-day. 
Billy  knows  how  to  tend  the  burner,  and  so " 

John  drank  a  dipperful  of  cold  water,  and  then  strode 
to  the  door.  He  could  plainly  see  Billy  on  the  platform 
at  the  edge  of  the  great  trough,  with  an  iron-shod  pole 
in  hand,  watching  the  humps  and  masses  of  refuse  wood 
that  traveled  past  him  and  up  and  into  the  opening, 
whence  they  disappeared  and  fell  to  the  tophet  below 
which  sent  up  a  long  banner  of  smoke  to  the  breeze 
above  Copagong  Mill. 

The  waste-burner  was  nearer  John  than  Billy  was, 
and  the  mill  was  beyond  the  boy,  who  was  too  intent 


<y 


70 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


on  the  waste  to  notice  his  father  gesticulating  as  he 
shouted,  **  Come  out  of  that !  "  John  knew  he  might 
as  well  have  held  his  breath,  for  the  pounding  and 
screaming  of  the  saws  deafened  Billy  to  the  prodigious 
yells  by  which  this  latter-day  Berserker  somewhat  allayed 
his  rage. 

**If  I  could  get  at  him  without  going  round  and 
through  the  mill,  I'd  go  and  pull  him  off,"  said  John. 
**But  give  me  my  feed  first.  Then  I'll  go  and  settle 
that  Pea-soup  for  good. ' ' 

His  wife,  without  a  word,  set  the  food  before  him, 
hoping  breakfast  would  improve  his  temper.  Then  she 
stood  by  the  window  watching  Billy  work,  while  her 
husband  ate. 

It  suddenly  struck  her  that  Billy  was  acting  strangely. 
Certainly  he  was  standing  in  the  trough  and  moving 
slowly  upward  with  the  waste.  But  that  was  nothing 
unusual.  What  puzzled  her  was  his  attitude.  The  boy 
was  bending  forward,  his  hands  on  a  hump  of  the  refuse, 
and  seemingly  straining  as  with  his  body. 

She  saw  him  lift  his  face  and  look  toward  the  furnace 
ahead.  He  was  within  sixty  feet  of  it.  Suddenly  he 
stood  up,  lifted  his  iron-shod  pole  and  began  thrusting 
hard  as  if  at  his  feet.  He  wriggled  his  shoulders, 
twisted  and  looked  again  at  the  waste-burner.  It  was 
not  more  than  fifty  feet  away  now. 

"Why,  John,"  exclaimed  the  mother,  "what's  Billy 
doing?     See!" 


) 


A   BERSERKER   OF  CO?AGONG 


71 


At  that  instant  the  youth  flung  up  his  hands  desper- 
ately and  looked  toward  her.  There  was  a  momentary 
hush  between  the  screams  of  great  saws  ;  Billy's  shriek 
came  in  that  instant,  and  John  Barclay  sprang  to  the 
door.     He  understood  the  case  instantly. 

"His  foot's  caught,"  John  shouted.  "Stop  the 
engine  !  Murder !  Stop  the  engine  !  My  boy's 
caught.  Oh,  my  God,  he'll  be  into  the  waste- 
burner  ! " 

John  ran  as  he  yelled.  He  might  as  well  have  saved 
his  voice.  No  map  in  the  mill  could  hear  him  through 
the  pounding  saws.  No  man  on  the  piling-ground  was 
in  sight  or  hearing  of  him. 

John  ran  straight  down  the  hill  for  the  base  of  the 
waste-burner.  The  round  chimney  of  riveted  iron  plate 
is  built  on  a  foundation  of  masonry  rising  six  feet  from 
the  ground.  There  are  four  iron  doors  or  manholes 
just  above  the  masonry.  As  the  Berserker  ran  he  saw 
his  son  fall  backward,  head  sloping  down  and  toward 
the  mill,  as  the  result  of  a  desperate  wrenching  at  his 
boot.  Its  heel  was  caught  in  one  of  the  flat  links,  much 
as  the  boot  of  a  brakeman  is  sometimes  held  between 
two  close-set  rails.  The  mother  hurried  after  her  hus- 
band, shrieking  unheard.  She  fell,  she  rolled  down  the 
steep  rock  edge  of  the  hill,  she  sprang  up,  still  shrieking, 
and  ran  against  a  pile  of  scantling,  which  being  end  on, 
caught  her  dress  and  held  her.  John  had  crashed 
through  and  over  it.    She  could  no  longer  see  her  son  ; 


o- 


72 


A    BERSERKER   OF   COPAGONG 


he  was  hidden  by  the  round  of  the  waste-burner.  "  Oh  ! 
oh!  oh!  he's  drawed  in — oh-h  ! "  she  screamed  and 
fell  senseless. 

■  John  Barclay  knew  it  to  be  improbable  that  any  man 
in  the  mill  would  see  the  boy  being  dragged  upward, 
and  get  the  engine  stopped  in  time  to  save  him  by 
bringing  the  endless  chain  to  a  halt.  John  knew  too, 
that  he  could  not  get  aruund  to  and  through  the  mill  in 
time  to  save  his  son. 

There  was  but  one  chance  of  rescue — the  fire  might 
be  crowned  high  on  top  with  waste  not  yet  ignited  ;  the 
boy  might  fall  where  the  turn  of  the  chain  passed  under 
the  trough  inside  the  door ;  he  might  fall  on  unfired 
wood.  If  some  one  were  there  to  catch  him  or  lift 
him — for  it  was  almost  certain  he  would  be  badly  hurt 
by  the  fail — he  might  be  saved. 

But  the  chance  was  desperately  small.  Instead  of 
falling  Billy  might  be  dragged  back  under  the  trough 
and  mangled,  perhaps  have  his  leg  torn  off,  before 
being  released  by  the  link.  It  was  a  desperate  chance 
even  if  he  should  fall  unhurt,  for  the  low  edges  of  the 
heap  in  the  furnace  would  certainly  be  all  flame  and 
deep  coals.  How  should  any  rescuer  dash  across  that 
inferno,  climb  the  unignited  middle  pile,  endure  the 
smoke,  seize  the  boy,  and  escape  with  him  back  across 
the  fire  to  a  manhole  ? 

John  knew  the  dreadful  situation  perfectly.  He  also 
knew  his  own  mind.     He  would  enter — he  would  die 


t 


A    BERSERKER    OF   COPAGONG 


73 


there  if  Billy  must  die — he  would  never  live  to  face  his. 
wife  and  know  that  his  rage  and  drunkenness  had 
brought  his  boy  that  day  to  tending  the  waste-burner. 

As  the  big  man  ran  he  picked  up  a  long  plank  and 
still  ran.  It  would  bridge  the  fire  for  a  few  moments. 
He  had  to  drop  it  to  open  the  iron  door.  Then  he 
thrust  it  in. 

A  moment  later  many  men,  running  from  the  piling- 
ground,  whence  they  had  seen  Billy's  peril,  came  round 
a  corner  close  to  the  waste-burner  just  in  time  to  see 
John  crawl  into  what  seemed  certain  death.  At  the 
head  of  them  was  Pierre  Dubois,  who  had  been  hurry- 
ing work  in  the  piling-yard. 

"Planks!"  he  shouted.  "Here!  Those  green 
ones  !  Hurry  !  Shove  them  in — here — open  the  other 
manholes — shove  planks  in  all ! "  Twenty  men  were 
working  at  once. 

As  John  sprang  through  the  manhole  and  knelt  on 
his  plank  a  moment  he  saw  that  the  cone  of  waste  wood 
was  unlit  on  top.  The  fire  was  indeed  uncommonly 
low,  its  fierce  edges  narrower  than  usual,  for  the  refuse 
had  been  unusually  heavy  for  some  days.  He  saw  that 
the  endless  chain  thirty  feet  above  him  was  still  running, 
for  small  scantling  and  sawdust  were  steadily  falling. 

Next  moment  Billy  appeared  at  the  upper  opening. 
As  the  chain  drew  him  on  it  jerked  him  through  a  com- 
plete somersault ;  his  head  hung  down  one  instant,  in 
the  next  he  fell. 


74 


A    UEKSEKKEK   OF    COPAGONG 


It  takes  a  man  about  two  seconds  to  spring  over 
thirty  feet  of  ground.  But  through  ten  feet  wide  of 
fire  !     John's  plank,  crazily  supported  at  the  inner  end 


by  the  waste,  turned 

as  he  rushed  on  it. 

He   fell  in  fire,   but 

fire  could   not  stop 

him.     He  seized  the 

edges  of  the  waste 

wood    and    climbed. 

He  rose  up  the  cone.      He  was  over  its  edge  when 

Billy  fell. 

As  the  giant  raised  his  arms  some  scantling  came 
down,  battering  his  face  as  he  braced  himself  for  the 
shock.  Blue  smoke  was  all  about  him,  but  he  could 
see  through  it,  for  smoke  mostly  draws  to  the  center, 


A    BERSERKER    OF    COPACONG 


75 


and  he  was  on  one  side  of  the  middle.  His  clothing 
was  smoldering,  his  hands  terribly  burned  from  his  fall ; 
bis  boots  were  cracked  and  hard  as  coals  ;  but  it  was 
oh,  to  save  Billy  from  this  torment ! 

John  caught  his  falling  son,  and  a  shower  of  small 
wood  fell  on  both  as  the  shock  flung  him  down  on  the 
cone.  He  rose  with  his  son  in  his  arms  and  rushed  at 
^  a  manhole.  There  were  faces  there,  surely  !  With  his 
feet  in  fire  he  lifted  Billy  high,  and  found  a  plank  under 
the  boy.     Then  John  knew  no  more. 

It  was  Pierre  Dubois  who  sprang  to  the  giant's  rescue, 
not  through  fire,  but  on  one  of  the  planks  now  thrust 
in  ;  and  a  perilous  deed  was  that  too.  Pierre,  coming 
through  the  north  manhole,  stooped  and  seized  the  big 
man  before  he  could  fall,  even  at  that  moment  when 
those  outside  in  the  east  manhole  drew  forth  the  plank 
on  which  John  had  set  Billy.  John's  charred  coat  gave 
way  in  Pierre's  grasp.  Pierre  grasped  the  giant  by  the 
-'  throat,  for  his  beard  was  burned  off.  Pierre  clung  to 
the  plank  with  his  legs,  and  threw  both  hands  around 
John's  scorched  head.  And  so  they  were  drawn  forth 
together.  But  the  Berserker  never  saw  his  wife's  face 
again.  _^ 

He  told  the  story  himself  two  years  later  as  he  sat 
knitting  one  summer  day  in  the  shade  of  a  lumber  pile 
at  Copagong,  where  I  landed  as  a  stranger  after  fishing 
all  the  morning. 


O' 


76 


A    BERSERKER    OF    COPAGONG 


If  I  was  surprised  to  see  a  man  knitting  I  was  more 
surprised  to  find,  when  I  came  near  him,  that  he  was 
totally  blind.  So  I  hailed  him  and  we  fell  into  talk  to- 
gether, "It's  cheering  to  see  you  so  contented,"  I 
said  toward  the  end. 

**I  am  contented,"  he  said.  *'  I  wouldn't  have  my 
eyes  back  again  and  the  heart  I  had  with  them — yes, 
and  for  a  year  and  more  after  I  lost  my  sight.  All  the 
time  I  was  trying  to  learn  the  knitting,  and  me  blind  ; 
but  it  wasn't  till  I  could  turn  the  heel  of  the  stocking 
I  felt  I'd  be  willing  to  live  so.  I  tried  and  tried, 
and  then  sudden-like  it  came  to  me  ;  it  was  like  it 
was  God  moved  my  fingers  so  I  learned  how.  Then  I 
knowed  I  could  earn  my  keep  and  not  be  a  burden  on 
Billy  ;  and  I  do  earn  it,  and  I  thank  God,  and  every  day 
since  then  I  have  been  resting  easy  in  his  mercy.  * ' 


r 


IN  SKELETON  POOL 


n 


i 


DUE  north  is  the  general  direction  of  the  Brazeau 
River,  but  it  takes  one  very  sharp  turn  to  the 
west,  and  in  the  angle  is  **The  Devil's  Elbow,"  which 
is  so  much  a  terror  to  raftsmen  that  none  but  the 
boldest  will  hire  for  the  Brazeau  drive. 

Beneath  the  surges  of  its  great  eddy,  Skeleton  Pool, 
the  bones  of  many  drowned  men  are  supposed  to  drift 
endlessly  around  ;  and  he  is  a  past  master  of  river-craft 
who  can  boast  truly  of  having  safely  run  the  Elbow 
twice  or  thrice. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  in  words  a  picture  of  so  com- 
plicated a  phenomenon  as  the  Elbow.  Unless  the 
reader  can  be  made  to  realize  the  configuration  of  the 
ground,  the  surge  of  the  river  against  the  precipice,  the 
fury  with  which  it  turns  to  roar  away  on  its  western 
course,  the  impulse  with  which  it  hurls  off  the  eddy 
toward  Tower  Island,  and  the  remorselessness  of  that 
whirlpool's  grasp  and  assault  on  such  timber  cribs  as 
enter  it,  he  will  not  quite  understand  Duncan  Stewart's 
adventure. 

Running  out  of  a  low-lying,  timbered  country,  the 
Brazeau' s  course  is  interceT)ted  by  the  face  of  a  plateau 

77 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


bome  three  hundred  feet  higher.  Into  this  bluff,  which 
elsewhere  descends  less  precipitously,  the  torrent,  by 
many  ages  of  persistence,  has  cut  such  an  angle  as  a 
huge  carpenter's  square  might  fit.  Three  pines, 
bunched  just  at  the  apex  of  this  angle,  and  conspicuous 
as  the  only  trees  on  the  upper  level,  swing  their  long 
arms  out  over  the  sheer  cliff,  there  sliced  straight  down 
as  a  stack  is  by  a  hay-knife.  Almost  incessantly  these 
long  arms  seem  to  gesticulate  in  the  current  of  air  rush- 
ing up  out  of  the  chasm. 

Opposite  this,  some  four  hundred  feet  distant,  the 
face  of  Tower  Island  rises  straight  about  one  hundred 
feet ;  and  on  every  side  but  one  shoots  up  as  sud- 
denly. It  divides  the  Brazeau  into  rapids  of  nearly 
equal  descent  ;  but  the  north  or  Devil's  Elbow  channel 
has  the   ' '  draw, ' '  and  takes  most  of  the  water. 

The  trick  of  running  a  crib  of  logs  safely  through  is 
to  gain  the  south  channel,  which,  unless  the  crib  gets 
into  the  mild  eddy  at  the  foot  of  Tower  Island,  quickly 
hurries  the  timber  into  the  calm  reach  a  mile  below. 
Here  high  spring  wagons  wait,  at  a  tavern  kept  by  the 
Widow  Black,  to  carry  the  raftsmen  back  to  the  head. 

Sometimes,  at  long  intervals,  a  wagon  laden  with 
men  rattles  by  without  a  cheery  song.  In  such  a  case, 
it  is  a  fair  inference  that  some  gang,  having  missed  the 
turn  at  the  dreadful  angle,  are  being  whirled  away 
dead  down  the  river,  or  rolled  among  the  vexed  bones 
in  the  depths  of  Skeleton  Pool. 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


T9 


\      r 


Not  that  the  Elbow  is  certain  death.  Probably  five 
cribs  out  of  six  get  safely  through,  or  lose  but  one  or 
two  men.  I  believe  this  to  be  oftenest  the  result  of 
sudden  changes  in  the  river's  action,  though  raftsmen 
insist  that  all  depends  on  the  judgment,  strength,  and 
nerve  of  a  crew.  ' 

For  this  run  each  crib  carries  four  men  and  eight 
sweeps,  four  at  each  end.  If  carried  into  the  Elbow 
channel,  all  hands,  when  near  the  angle,  take  to  the 
sweeps  at  the  rear. 

Just  as  the  crib's  front  seems  likely  to  crash  against 
the  precipice  the  stern  begins  to  wheel  down,  and  the 
men  assist  this  action  of  the  current.  If  they  miss 
here,  and  are  borne  sidewise  away  instead  of  stern 
down,  the  crib  does  not  get  close  enough  ashore,  and 
the  thrust  from  the  precipice  commonly  carries  them 
into  the  raving  edge  of  the  whirlpool. 

There  the  crib  usually  is  wrenched  instantly  to  ])ieces 
or  plunged  so  deep  that  the  men  arc  swe{)t  off.  In 
this  case  they  are  wholly  beyond  rescue,  and  are 
drowned. 

Well-made  cribs  have  been  known  to  wliecl,  lossed 
like  corks  in  the  pool,  for  ten  days  befort:  '>reaHng  uo  : 
but  never,  perhaps,  except  once,  did  oiu  oi  th.cse  sad 
derelicts  carry  a  living  man. 

In  the  summer  of  1868,  at  the  beginning  of  my  ap- 
prenticeship to  a  surveyor,  I  was  sent  up  the  Brazeau. 
Duncan  Stewart  was  my  chief. 


8o 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


(( 


A  better  fellow  than  Stewart  never  lived,"  my 
master  had  said.  ' '  Years  ago  he  was  given  to  drink, 
but  now  he's  quite  reformed.  He  hasn't  touched  a 
drop  for  two  years. 

"I'm  giving  him  this  job,"  my  master  went  on, 
"partly  because  he'll  do  it  well,  partly  because  he'll 
do  it  cheaply,  and  partly  because  I  want  to  help  a  lame 
dog  over  a  stile.  But  mind,  you're  my  apprentice, 
and  while  you  give  due  obedience  to  Mr.  Stewart,  it's 
your  duty  to  let  me  know  promptly  if  anything  goes 
wrong.  After  all's  said,  it  is  impossible  to  place  per- 
fect confidence  in  a  man  who  was  long  lost  in  drink." 

I  liked  Stewart  from  the  start.  He  was  kind  and 
friendly ;  he  took  pains  to  teach  me,  and  often 
entrusted  me  with  the  transit,  taking  the  chain  himself. 

"I  mean  to  make  a  surveyor  of  you  before  this  job's 
done,"    he  would  say. 

Everything  went  well  until  we  camped  at  the  Widow 
Black's.  Next  morning  we  were  driven  up  to  "the 
head."  Some  of  the  men,  though  they  were  not 
drunk,  had  obtained  whisky  at  the  tavern.  Stewart 
seemed  out  of  sorts.  No  doubt  he  was  tortured  by 
the  smell  of  and  craving  for  liquor. 

That  afternoon,  after  starting  the  new  line,  Stewart 
left  me  to  run  it,  saying  that  he  would  see  the  camp 
put  in  shape  for  a  long  stay.  When  I  came  back  he 
was  sleeping  ;  he  slept  while  I  supped  ;  and  when  I 
turned  in  beside  him  he  made  no  stir. 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


8l 


The  men  were  whispering,  and  I  thought  them  **up 
to  something,"  but  my  fatigue  was  greater  than  my 
curiosity,  and  I  was  soon  sound  asleep. 

"Ned!  Mr.  Ned!  wake  up!  rouse,  rouse,  there's 
trouble  breeding  ! " 

I  sat  up  to  find  old  John  Shouldice  shaking  me. 

"What's  up,  John?" 

"They're  all  drunk  except  me." 

"Drunk?" 

"  Drunk  as  fools  !     The  surveyor  too." 

"Mr.  Stewart?     Impossible!" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stewart  himself.  Burns  and  Fletcher  put 
six  bottles  into  their  packs  this  morning.  The  surveyor 
had  some.  Now  it's  all  gone,  and  they're  wild  for 
more. " 

"  Well,  they  can't  get  any  ;  that's  one  good  thing." 

"They're  going  back  to  the  widow's." 

"But  they  can't  in  the  state  they're  in.  It's  five 
miles  after  they  cross. ' ' 

"They're  going  to  run  down  in  the  bateau." 

"What?"  I  started  to  my  feet.  "The  Devil's 
Elbow  will   ,  ;t  every  man  of  them  !  "      ' 

"Not  if  they  catch  the  south  channel.  Burns 
knows  the  river  well ;  but  he's  too  drunk." 

Hurrying  out  I  found  the  ten  men  grouped,  with 
Stewart  staggering  among  them. 

"Yes,  sir,  lean  run  yc  over  all  right,  sir,"   Burns 

was  saying. 

P 


82 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


"What  does  this  mean?"   I  asked. 

**  It's  all  ri',"  said  Stewart ;  "you  go  back  to  bed." 

"  Better  go  yourself,"  I  said,  "and  the  rest  of  you. 
Come,  I'm  not  going  to  stand  any  nonsense." 

"We're  takin'  our  orders  from  the  surveyor,"  said 
Burns,  "an'  I'd  be  pleased  to  know  who  set  you  over 
us.  Hi !  We're  going  where  there's  whisky,  so  we 
are.     Come  on,  boys  !" 

The}-  staggered  down  to  the  big  red  boat. 

"Shculdice,  there's  no  stopping  them.  The  Elbow 
will  'avc  them  as  sure  as  fate." 

"  We  11  have  to  go  with  them,"  said  brave  old  John. 
"1  knov;  the  water.  I've  been  over  it  fifty  times. 
You  a  c  the  bow.  We'll  get  over  all  right  enough. 
Some  ui  them  ain't  too  drunk  to  do  the  rowing.  But 
for  the  humanity  of  it,  I  should  feel  a  sight  more  like 
letting  the  brutes  go  than  risk  our  skins  for  'em." 

Nevertheless  that  was  what  we  did. 

The  run  was  a  wild  adventure,  but  we  gained  the 
south  channel,  left  the  Elbow  shrieking  far  behind, 
and  reached  the  Widow  Black's  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

When  we  awoke  the  sun  was  well  up.  Most  of  our 
men  were  lying  about  the  sheds  in  a  state  of  deep  in- 
toxication.    Stewart  was  nov  here  \.<:  be  seen. 

"He  went  up  with  the  fir«5t  gang  at  day!'  ;ht."  said 
the  widow.  *  *  He's  run  the  t.outh  channel  once  already, 
and  now  he's  back,  wild  to  run  the  Elbow.     Last  I 


■■■  t 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


83 


heerd,  he  was  offering  twenty  dollars  to  any  gang  that 
'ud  try  it,  an'  the  boys  was  laughin'  at  him.  01-,  he's 
far  gone  with  his  liquor." 

"Give  me  some  breakfast,  quick,"  said  I.  'Til 
follow  him.  And  look  you,  woman,  if  you  give  our 
men  another  drop,  there'll  be  trouble  for  you.  You 
can  depend  on  that. " 

I  knew  she  had  no  license  to  sell  liquor. 

*'  Bah  !  "  she  cried,  snapping  her  fingers  in  my  face. 
"I  don't  fear  you,  not  a  bit.  The  boys  would  take 
care  of  you,  or  any  one  else,  that  interfered  with  my 
business.  But  there's  no  more  drink  for  that  crowd. 
I'll  tell  you  that  to  please  you.  Not  a  cent  of  money 
has  one  of  them  left. " 

While  I  hastily  ate  my  pork  and  beans,  I  heard  the 
noise  of  men  coming  up  to  the  wagons.  Stewart  was 
not  amonj^  them. 

**We  left  him  layin'  on  the  raft,"  mumbled  the 
gigantic  foreman,  Tom  Benson.  ' '  None  of  the  boys 
would  fetch  him  this  trip.  He  swears  he'll  go  over  the 
Elbow  if  he  has  to  swim  for  it.  But  the  cook' 11  watch 
him." 

I  leaped  into  a  wagon,  and  went  up  to  the  head  of 
the  rapids.  Shouldice  went  with  us,  but  he  was  too 
old  to  render  much  service. 

When  we  reached  the  raft,  there  stood  the  men  who 
had  preceded  us,  bunched  together  and  gazing  down 
the  river. 


/ 


'.■'*^\ 


■^\i 


m- 


84 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


Far  away,  and  drifting  into  the  Elbow  channel,  went 
a  crib  with  one  man  upon  it,  who  danced  and  waved 
his  hat,  then  stood  looking  ahead  into  the  fearful 
angle,  then  flung  up  his  arms  and  leaped  to  and  fro  as 
pf  in  delirium. 

♦*It's  Mr.  Stewart!"  said  the  cook.  "When  I 
wasn't  thinking  of  him  he  sneaked  down  to  the  lower 
cribs,  knocked  away  the  bands,  and  was  off !  " 

"You've  seen  the  last  of  him,"  said  Tom  Benson, 
now  thoroughly  sobered,  "unless  the  timber  goes 
through  all  right.  Even  then  he'll  surely  be  swept  off. 
But  there's  a  rope  on  that  crib.  Maybe  he'll  know 
enough  to  hang  on." 

"  I'll  go  down  with  you,  Tom.  We  must  save  him, 
somehow, ' '  said  I.  In  a  few  moments  our  men  were 
rowing  hard  to  pull  out  of  "  the  Devil's  draw,"  as  Tom 
called  it. 

"  Look,  Ned  !  Not  you,  boys  !  Pull — pull  for  your 
lives  !     Let  into  it.     But  you,  Ned — look  ! ' ' 

At  that  moment  we  could  see  Stewart's  crib  slanting 
up  like  a  roof,  and  apparently  just  at  the  angle.  Ke 
was  on  his  knees,  clutching  something. 

"It's  the  rope  he's  got  !  "  said  Tom. 

Then  his  crib  began  to  swing  around.  Next  mo- 
ment the  cliff  of  Tower  Islaid  hid  man  and  timber. 

"If  we  don't  see  him  pass  down  ahead  of  us,  we'll 
haul  over  into  the  eddy  at  the  foot  of  the  island, ' '  said 
Benson,  as  we  passed  into  the  south  channel. 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


85 


That  is  what  we  did.  Soon  we  landed  and  began 
the  ascent  of  the  Tower,  for  it  was  impossible  to  see 
into  Skeleton  Pool  from  the  low  rocks  at  the  island's 
foot. 

"  But  it's  too  late,  I  fear,"  said  Tom.  **  He's  gone 
long  ago,  and  we  can't  save  the  timber.  But,  anyhow, 
let  us  see  it  flying  round  !  " 

When  we  stood  above  the  pool,  there  was  the  crib 
almost  beneath  our  feet,  racing  up  the  eddy.  From 
below,  had  there  been  standing  room,  we  might  have 
reached  it  with  a  pike-pole. 

But  a  hundred  men  with  pike-poles  could  not  have 
held  it  for  a  moment.  The  forces  of  the  pool  carried 
it  away  with  incredible  speed,  and  flung  it  about  like 
a  chip.     But  Stewart  was  there,  and  alive. 

He  was  even  safe  for  the  time.  Sobered  by  the 
wetting  and  the  horror,  he  had  contrived  to  take  several 
turns  around  a  loading  stick  with  the  half-inch  rope  he 
found  aboard.  These  turns  lay  spirally  along  the  stick 
and  formed  loose  bands.  Through  one  of  these  he 
had  thrust  his  legs  up  to  the  thighs,  through  another 
he  had  pushed  his  head  and  shoulders. 

Lying  face  down,  he  clutched  the  loading  stick.  Up 
the  Skeleton  Pool  flew  the  crib,  till  so  near  the  mighty 
shoulder  of  the  downward  torrent  that  we  expected  it 
to  overwhelm  Stewart. 

At  the  plunge  a  roller  broke  over  him.  He  was 
whirled  out  toward  the  Elbow,  then  swiftly  down,  and 


86 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


around  the  dreadful  oval  again,  hurrying  so  close  to  the 
she''»-  wall  below  our  feet  that  Benson  dropped  a  pebble 
beyond  the  crib  as  it  passed. 

Sometimes  the  crib  was  carried  into  the  center  of  the 
pool,  where  it  floated  with  little  tossing,  slowly  turning 
in  a  small  round  for  many  minutes.  Then  the  outer 
forces  called  for  another  struggle  to  tear  asunder  the 
crib,  and  drew  it  out  and  threw  them  Ives  upon  it, 
and  offered  it  to  the  demons  of  the  angle,  and  hurled 
and  oscillated  it  again. 

"It's  terrible  with  him  so  close,  and  we  can't  help 
him  any  more  than  if  we  were  babies,"  said  Benson. 

**  li  we  could  only  make  him  see  us  !  "  I  suggested. 

''What  good?  He'd  feel  all  the  worse.  You  see 
he's  got  to  die.  If  he  saw  us  he'd  have  hope,  and  that 
would  keep  the  life  in  him  longer,  and  he'd  suffer  more 
in  the  end." 

**  No  !  1-ic  d  feel  helped  ;  he'd  die  easier  if  he 
knew  we  were  by  him,"  I  insisted. 

Benson  threw  a  small  stone  at  the  crib.  Then  we 
threw  handfuls.  But  a  wind  came  up  out  of  the  chasm, 
and  a  gale  went  with  its  waters,  and  our  efforts  were 
vain. 

If  any  pebble  struck  Stewart  he  made  no  sign. 

Benson  climbed  a  pine,  and  cut  off  a  large  branch 
with  his  knife,  "This  is  the  thing,"  said  he,  and 
waited. 

When  the  crib,  racing  upward,  was  within  thirty  feet 


-V 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


87 


of  our  cliff,  he  dropped  the  branch.  It  wavered  down 
with  the  sway  of  a  parachute,  then  turned  over  and 
over  with  the  up  current,  and  fell  far  behind  the  timber. 

But  we  dropped  branch  after  branch,  and  at  last  one 
was  blown  by  the  wind  so  that  it  fell  lightly  upon  Stewart 
himself  He  turned  on  his  side  and  looked  up  ;  but 
he  did  not  see  us  until  the  crib  was  runt^  ^15  down  the 
outer  current.  Then  he  kicked  him8<>lf"  nt  irly  free, 
sat  up,  and  waved  his  hand. 

Just  then  a  roller  struck  the  crib,  rus.  .1  straight  at 
him,  and  threw  his  body  off  the  loading  stick. 

But  his  feet  were  still  held  by  the  rope.  He  re- 
covered his  position,  passed  the  band  again  over  his 
shoulders,  and  ^urned  his  head  curiously  from  side  to 
side  as  he  flew  around,  gazing  at  his  tumultuous  prison. 

"I've  got  it.  We'll  save  him  !  "  shouted  big  Tom. 
** Stay  here  till  I  get  back,  Ned." 

He  was  off  without  another  word. 

Two  hours  passed  before  he  returned  with  a  **  bunch  " 
of  men,  and  all  that  time  I  silently  watched  Stewart. 
The  crib  had  begun  to  sag,  I  thought,  when  on  the 
crests  of  the  steeper  rollers. 

"It'll  break  up  soon,"  said  Tom,  the  moment  he 
returned.  "Now,  boys,  down  with  that  tree;  put  in 
your  best  strokes.     Fell  it  straight  out." 

Four  axemen  attacked  a  huge-  white  pine,  some 
seventy  feet  inland,  while  the  others  cut  away  the 
underbrush  and  small  trees  for  its  fall.     The  top,  when 


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88 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


it  crashed  down,  projected  forty  feet  beyond  the  cliff, 
and  the  branches  that  broke  away  fell  in  a  green  shower 
about  Stewart's  crib. 

In  ten  minutes,  big  Tom,  lying  out  on  the  tree  like  a 
sailor,  cut  away  such  branches  as  would  interfere  with 
the  rope,  and  passed  a  cable  over  the  outermost  crotch 
that  was  sufficiently  strong. 

When  the  rope  began  to  descend  of  its  own  weight, 
he  crawled  back  to  us. 

*  *  We  can  do  no  more, ' '  said  he,  shaking  as  with  an 
ague.  *'  Now  we'll  see  if  the  surveyor  can  save  him- 
self!" 

When  Stewart  passed  under  the  rope  for  the  first 
time,  he  sat  up  and  raised  his  hand,  but  could  not 
touch  the  noose.  Then  he  made  the  surveyor's  signal 
of  **down." 

We  lowered  till  the  noose  touched  the  water  and  was 
snatched  along  by  the  fierce  stream.  Then  we  drew  it 
up  till  it  seemed  to  hang  about  five  feet  above  the 
sluice-like  stream. 

The  second  time  Stewart  came  under  us,  he  stood 
up  stoopingly,  braced  himself,  held  to  his  rope  by  one 
hand,  and  prepared  to  run  his  free  arm  and  his  head 
into  the  noose. 

The  rope  suddenly  swung  out  beyond  his  reach.  We 
staggered  and  shook,  tumbling  backward  from  the  edge 
and  against  one  another,  uttering  meaningless  cries, 
with  the  shock  and  reaction  of  that  disappointment. 


k^ 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


\ 


89 


''  If  that  happens  again,  some  of  us  may  fall  over," 
said  Tom.  Taking  a  new  hitch  with  the  rope,  he 
brought  us  the  shore  end  to  hold  on  by. 

The  crib  was  now  very  plainly  sagging  as  it  rose  and 
fell. 

Once  more  Stewart  rose,  and  tried  to  put  his  arm 
through  the  noose.  The  rope  struck  him  on  the  head  ; 
he  lost  his  grasp  of  his  own  rope  and  fell  down,  but 
saved  himself,  and  crawled  back  to  his  bands  in  time  to 
get  within  them  before  passing  into  the  breakers. 

But  at  the  shoulder  of  the  rapids  the  crib  began  to 
break  up.  One  side-stick  whirled  loose,  then  another. 
Both  were  thrust  up  from  the  pool's  outer  edge  soon 
afterward.     They  shot  half  out  of  water  before  falling. 

The  fourth  attempt  was  long  delayed,  for  the  crib 
moved  into  the  middle  of  the  pool  and  whirled  gently 
around  the  inner  circle.  There  Stewart  loosed  him- 
self, stood  up,  looked  at  us  for  a  moment,  gazed  around 
the  shrieking  waters,  waved  his  hand  toward  the  now 
descending  sun,  looked  up  to  us  again,  raised  his  arms 
above  his  head  and  dropped  them  to  his  side  with  a 
strange  gesture  of  utter  despair. 

"  It's  a  Masonic  sign  !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  **  And  he 
is  praying  to  the  Lord  for  help  !  I  must  save  him  ! 
Boys,  I'll  go  down  and  grab  him  !  " 

Just  then  the  crib  began  to  run  again.  It  was  mov- 
ing down  stream,  and  would  be  under  the  rope  again 
within  two  minutes. 


90 


IN   SKELETON    POOL 


We  were  sure  this  would  be  Stewart's  last  chance,  for 
the  crib  could  never  hold  together  through  another 
plunge  into  the  rapid's  shoulder. 

"Come  back.  You've  no  time  to  go  down!"  I 
called  to  Benson. 

But  he  had  swung  himself  off  already,  and  now  hur- 
ried down  the  rope,  hand  over  hand. 

We  leaned  over  with  horror.  If  Benson  should  suc- 
ceed in  grasping  him,  could  he  hold  on  while  we  hauled 
both  men  up  ?  And  could  we  lift  both  up  and  back 
into  safety,  after  raising  them  to  the  crotch  of  the  pine  ? 
It  was  impossible. 

What  madness  had  possessed  the  foreman  ?  To  save 
himself  he  would  have  to  drop  Stewart  from  the  tree 
after  grasping  him. 

Benson  was  now  within  the  noose.  Only  then  had 
we  eyes  for  Stewart  and  the  crib. 

We  looked  ;  the  crib  was  not  where  we  expected  to 
see  it.  We  looked  over  the  whole  surface  of  Skeleton 
Pool.     Neither  the  crib  nor  Stewart  could  be  seen. 

Tom  dangled  down  there  alone.  With  the  oscilla- 
tion of  the  current,  its  higher  billows  dragged  at  his  legs. 

The  men  began  to  haul  Benson  up.  We  might  save 
him,  anyway. 

I  looked  down  into  his  upturned  face.  It  was  posi- 
tively gleeful !  Holding  to  th  iming  rope  by  one 
hand,  he  pointed  with  the  ou.o.retched  forefinger  of 
the  other,  as  his  face  turned  down  stream. 


IN    SKELETON    POOL 


91 


^ 


^    I 


I  followed  the  direction.  There  was  Stewart's  crib, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  down  the  rapid.  It  had  been 
quietly  let  go  by  the  eddy,  and  we  knew  the  surveyor 
would  be  saved  at  the  widow's  place. 

Benson  easily  lifted  himself  into  the  tree  and  came 
ashore.  No  one  could  ever  persuade  him  that  Stew- 
art's sign  or  prayer  for  help  had  not  been  miraculously 
answered,  though  old  John  Shouldice  declared  that 
cribs  had  once  or  twice  before  gone  out  of  the  rapids 
in  the  same  way. 

Stewart  was  taken  ashore  at  the  tavern,  in  a  fainting 
condition.  He  did  not  throw  away  the  chance  afforded 
him.  Solemnly  he  vowed,  when  he  had  recovered  from 
the  delirium  in  which  his  fearful  adventure  and  ex- 
posure left  him,  that  he  would  never  touch  liquor 
again. 

I  have  known  him  years  now,  and  know  how  much 
it  cost  him  to  keep  his  vow.  Wherever  he  went  he  ran 
the  risk  of  seeing  liquor,  and  whenever  he  saw  it  or 
smelled  it,  his  craving  awoke. 

But  at  the  same  time  the  remembrance  of  the  Elbow 
also  awoke  ;  and  though  the  constant  temptation  to  drink 
might  well  have  broken  the  resolution  of  a  stronger 
man,  he  had  undergone  an  experience  the  lasting  mem- 
ory of  whose  terrors  he  could  call  to  his  aid  with  good 
effect. 


JOHN  MACBRIDE 


HEAVY  rain  stopped  work  in  the  Deep  Gully  lock- 
pit  about  ten  in  the  forenoon  of  February  thir- 
teenth. As  the  engine  whistled  **  Knock  off,"  three 
hundred  men  threw  down  their  drills,  jumpers,  striking 
hammers  and  other  tools  used  in  rock  excavation. 
Forty  cart  drivers  unhitched  their  horses.  Soon  all 
hands,  except  the  foreman,  the  engineman,  and  two 
others,  were  following  the  cart  horses  down  the  road  to 
the  boarding  houses,  half  a  mile  away. 

"  Toot  for  glycerine,"  said  the  foreman  to  the  engine- 
man.  **  There's  eight  long  holes  I'd  like  to  fire  while 
the  pit's  clear." 

*'How  many  cans?"  asked  the  engineman,  with  his 
hand  on  the  whistle  wire. 

''One  will  do." 

The  whistle  sounded  five  short  screams  and  one  long 
too-oo-oo-t  after  an  interval  of  twenty  seconds. 

At  that  the  stragglers  in  rear  of  the  home-going  pro- 
cession ran  a  few  steps.  The  men  were  morbidly  afraid 
of  nitroglycerine,  which  the  contractor  insisted  on  using 
because  of  its  shattering  effect. 

In  1879,  when  John  Macbride  had  the  adventure  I 
92 


i  i 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


93 


am  about  to  narrate,  this  explosive  sprang  into  popu- 
larity with  Blind  River  contractors,  who  abandoned  it 
in  the  course  of  a  twelvemonth  almost  as  suddenly  as 
they  had  taken  it  up,  and  resorted  to  giant  powder, 
dynamite,  and  other  preparations  of  nitroglycerine  that 
do  not,  like  the  pure  article,  explode  easily  by  concus- 
sion. 

Meantim.e  "  the  stuff"  had  terribly  revealed  its  qual- 
ities. At  Williamson's  Cut,  ten  miles  above  Lobb's 
contract,  Robert  Watson  had  carried  an  apparently 
empty  can  home  to  his  wife.  He,  she,  and  two  chil- 
dren, were  found  dead  iii  the  shattered  interior  of  their 
shanty.  A  little  girl,  the  only  survivor  of  the  family, 
said  that  her  mother  had  been  scraping  the  inside  of 
the  can  when  the  explosion  occurred. 

While  the  foreman  at  Wolfs  Rapid  was  pouring  the 
contents  of  a  can  into  a  hole,  he  spilled  some,  and  in 
rising,  brought  his  iron-shod  heel  down  on  it.  The 
man  was  hurled  against  a  rock  wall,  with  his  leg  twisted 
out  of  joint  at  the  knee,  though  the  main  charge  did 
not  explode. 

As  many  as  fifty  "accidents'*  more  or  less  similar 
had  occurred  along  the  river,  but  few  more  dreadful 
than  the  death  of  William  Burns  and  Louis  Bigras  at 
the  Deep  Gully  Cut.  They  were  seen,  about  three  hun- 
dred yards  above  th^  excavation,  coming  from  the  maga- 
zine in  the  bottom  of  the  gully,  some  seven  hundred 
yards  distant  from  the  lock-pit.     Each  man  had  received 


94 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


two  cans  from  the  "glycerine  boss,"  John  Macbride. 
Suddenly  .both  were  blown  to  atoms  in  full  view  of 
their  comrades.  In  and  out  from  the  swarming  pit 
three  hundred  men  ran  howling  and  crying.  Some  fell 
on  their  knees,  hiding  their  eyes.  Others  rolled  in 
anguish.  This  confusion  and  madness  of  horror  lasted 
several  minutes.  Probably  one  of  the  dead  men  had 
knocked  the  edge  of  a  can  against  a  boulder  as  he  passed. 

A  certain  mystery  attending  the  disasters  increased 
the  terror  felt  for  **  the  stuff."  Men  believed  it  would 
"go  off  of  itself."  Lobb's  laborers  insisted  that  the 
magazine  should  be  moved  out  of  the  gully,  and  John 
Macbride  elevated  the  whole  lot  to  the  uninhabited 
table  land  above.  Had  he  thrown  up  his  place  as 
"glycerine  boss,"  no  laborer  on  the  job  would  have 
taken  it  at  any  wages. 

Five  minutes  had  elapsed  after  the  "  toots  for  glycer- 
ine," when  a  cry  came  down  from  the  beetling  preci- 
pice on  the  south  side  of  Deep  Gully.  The  foreman  ran 
out  from  under  the  heavily  roofed  engine  shed. 

"All  right,  Mac  !  Down  with  her!"  he  shouted 
looking  upward. 

Though  the  distance  to  Macbride' s  face  was  only  two 
hundred  feet,  he  seemed  to  the  men  in  the  lock-pit  as 
high  as  the  sky,  which,  seen  from  below,  looked  like  a 
long  lane  of  gray,  running  eastward  and  westward.  Rain, 
driving  before  a  wind  that  had  already  shifted  around 
toward  the  north,    fell  slanting  into  the  chasm,  soon 


\. 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


9S 


ll 


lost  its  direction  in  that  windless  abyss,  and  drizzled 
straight  down.  Thin  sheets  of  water  fell  from  the  edge 
of  the  overhanging  precipice  on  both  sides  of  the  plat- 
form whereon  Macbride  lay,  for  the  surface  behind  him 
was  of  flat  rock  with  a  quick  slope  to  the  gully.  This 
slope  was  not  so  steep  as  house  roofs  usually  are,  but  it 
was  as  steep  as  a  man  could  easily  walk  down  with 
security,  ^et  or  dry,  the  gritty  rock  afforded  excellent 
foothold. 

Macbride' s  platform,  about  twelve  feet  wide,  pro- 
jecteJd  three  feet  beyond  the  rock  face,  and  extended 
inward  on  the  level  six  feet,  till  it  met  the  slope.  This 
platform,  spiked  to  timbers  bolted  to  the  rock,  carried 
a  small  fixed  derrick. 

As  the  foreman  shouted,  **A11  right!"  Macbride 
threw  down  a  light  guide  rope  which  hung  from  the 
bottom  of  a  two-chambered  sack,  stuffed  thickly  with 
coarse  hair  and  wool.  In  each  chamber  a  can  of  glycer- 
ine could  be  sent  down  securely.  The  upper  edge  of 
the  sack  was  fastened  to  stout  cords  which  joined  and 
ran  through  pulley  blocks  fixed  to  the  derrick.  These 
blocks  had  such  a  hold  on  the  rope  that  the  sa  .k  ^ould 
not  descend  of  its  own  weight. 

Lying  face  downward,  Macbride  let  the  sack  of  glyc- 
erine slowly  down,  while  the  foreman  kept  the  guid- 
ing cord  taut.  No  man,  unaccustomed  to  great 
heights,  could  lie  out,  front  down,  on  that  platform 
without  being  tempted  to  go  head  first  over. 


€> 


96 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


"Hello  !  "  called  Macbride,  when  the  foreman  had 
taken  the  explosive  from  the  sack. 

"Hello  yourself." 

"  Is  work  stopped  for  the  day  ?  " 

"No,  I  guess  not.  D'you  think  it's  going  to  clear, 
Mac?" 

"Yes.  Wind's  getting  colder  up  here.  I  s'pose 
you  don' t  feel  it  down  there. ' ' 

"  Not  a  breath.  If  it  clears  we'll  start,  if  there's 
only  a  quarter  day  to  be  made. ' ' 

* '  All  right,     r  11  stop  up  here. ' ' 

" Got  your  dinner,  daddy?  "  called  the  engineman, 
Macbride' s  eldest  son. 

"Yes.     All  right.  Tommy." 

Then  Macbride,  who  was  usually  called  "  Daddy 
Macbride"  or  "the  old  man,"  hauled  up  his  ropes 
and  his  sack,  covered  them  with  a  small  tarpaulin,  and 
ascended  the  slope. 

His  path  was  for  fifty  yards  over  smooth  rock,  always 
swept  clear  of  snow  by  the  winds  of  that  table-land. 
The  rain,  not  yet  freezing  as  it  fell,  danced,  shivered, 
flew  forward  in  spray,  and  running  down  against  the 
wind,  poured  over  the  precipice  and  the  platform  he 
had  left. 

In  places  a  few  scales  of  ice  had  formed  on  the  slope. 
It  had  not  yet  absorbed  much  heat  from  the  rain,  which, 
had  it  been  of  a  little  lower  temperature,  would  have 
formed  a  sheet  of  ice  there. 


JOHN    MACBKIDE 


97 


The  slope's  upper  edge  terminated  in  a  flat  of  land 
covered  with  broken  stone  and  snow.  'Inhere  a  shanty 
had  been  built  for  Macbride's  accommodation.  It 
contained  a  coolc-stove,  a  table,  and  a  chair.  The 
magazine,  containing  a  ton  of  nitroglycerine,  stood 
about  sixty  yards  back  from  the  shanty. 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  increasing  wind  had  shifted 
to  straight  from  the  north.  The  rain  dwindled  to  a 
drizzle,  and  froze  as  it  fell.  By  half-past  twelve  the  air 
was  clear,  and  a  bitterly  cold  afternoon  in  prospect. 
The  gale  increased  in  strength  till  after  the  steam  whistle 
told  Macbride  that  work  had  been  resumed. 

Then  the  wind,  having  reached  its  height,  became 
steady.  At  four  o'clock,  when  "toots  for  glycerine — 
two  cans"  sounded,  the  thermometer  stood  at  two 
degrees  above  zero.  When  Macbride,  with  two  cans  of 
glycerine  in  his  hands,  reached  the  upper  edge  of  the 
slope,  he  saw  it  was  a  sheet  of  ice  all  the  way  down. 

Macbride,  a  slow,  sure  man.  doggedly  devoted  to  the 
interests  of  his  employer,  knew  Lobb's  anxiety  to  push 
the  work.  The  thought  that  he  should  not  risk  the 
descent  never  entered  his  mind. 

Three  hundred  and  forty  men  would,  he  knew,  be 
dillydallying  till  they  should  hear  his  call,  *  *  Look  out  for 
glycerine  !  "  Then  they  would  run  for  shelter.  Mean- 
time they  would  be  casting  glances  upward  to  his  plat- 
form, listening  for  his  voice,  and  "  fooling  away  time  " 
in  a  way  that  Macbride  abhorred. 


98 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


He  was  at  once  a  cautious  man,  and  very  confident 
that  his  caution  would  bring  him  safely  through  what' 
ever  it  allowed  him  to  undertake.  But  he  was  one  of 
the  slowest-witted  men  I  ever  knew,  though  a  man  of 
very  good  sense. 

When  he  devised  a  plan  it  was  usually  a  sound  plan, 
but  he  needed  a  great  deal  of  time  for  the  devising,  and 
if  he  were  hurried,  he  could  not  plan  anything.  For 
this  very  emergency  he  had  prepared  long  before,  and 
it  did  not  now  occur  to  him  that  the  fixture  would  not 
serve  him  well. 

It  consisted  of  a  light  rope  fastened  to  his  derrick, 
and  hauled  tight  to  a  post  planted  at  the  slope's  upper 
edge.  This  rope  sagged  in  the  middle  to  within  a  foot 
of  the  face  of  the  slope.  At  the  ends  it  was  four  feet 
high.  Throughout  its  whole  length  it  was  now  covered 
with  ice. 

Laying  his  cans  cautiously  down,  Macbride  shook  the 
rope  violenty.  The  ice  flew  from  it  in  a  thousand 
pieces.  Some  stopped  on  the  platform  :  but  most  slid 
clear  over  the  edge  and  down  among  the  men  below. 

The  old  man  next  stepped  on  the  slope,  holding  the 
rope  in  his  right  hand.  He  went  down  fifteen  feet 
without  slipping,  and  came  back  reassured.  Still  he 
did  not  venture  without  more  thinking. 

Unfortunately  his  mind  dwelt  much  upon  how  the 
waiting  men  must  be  wasting  time,  and  little  on  the 
danger  to  which  his  descent  might  submit  them.     Old 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


99 


! 


the 
the 

low 


John  felt  that  he  himself  would  probably  be  blown  to 
atoms  if  he  should  drop  a  can.  But  that  the  can  might 
slip  on  the  precipice,  to  explode  on  striking  below,  did  . 
not  occur  to  him.  His  own  risk,  taken  in  way  of  duty, 
was  the  only  risk  present  to  this  slow-witted  laboring 
man. 

Placing  one  can  under  his  right  arm,  and  carrying  the 
other  in  his  left  hand,  Macbride,  with  the  rope  in  his 
right  hand,  went  cautiously  about  five  yards  when  the 
thought  of  what  would  happen  if  he  should  slip  brought 
him  to  a  stand-still. 

If  he  clutched  the  rope  to  save  himself,  the  can 
under  his  right  arm  would  probably  fall ! 

He  fancied  his  son  the  engineman  hearing  the  ex- 
plosion and  coming  up  from  below  to  look  for  the  pieces 
of  him,  as  he  himself  had  looked  for  the  pieces  of 
Bigras  and  Burns. 

"I'll  put  one  can  down  and  come  back  for  it," 
thought  Macbride. 

Slowly  bending  he  put  down  the  can  in  his  left  hand. 
It  had  barely  touched  the  ice  when  he  doubted  that  it 
would  stand.  Very  cautiously  he  loosened  his  grasp. 
The  can  instantly  slipped. 

He  clutched  for  and  seized  it,  but  let  go  the  rope, 
slippied,  and  was  flat  on  his  back  in  a  moment.  By  in- 
stinct he  hitched  up  both  cans  on  his  breast  so  that 
neither  experienced  concussion.  While  falling  he  had 
a  flash  of  expectation  that  he  would,  next  instant,  be 


lOO 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


blown  to  pieces.  Stupefied  with  wonder  and  thankful- 
ness at  having  come  off  so  well,  he  lay  on  his  back 
tightly  grasping  the  terrible  cans. 

His  rough  frieze  pea-jacket  held  him  from  slipping. 
After  some  reflection  he  shifted  the  cans  to  his  lap  and 
attempted  to  sit  up. 

It  is  not  easy  to  raise  one' s  self  from  lying  flat  on  the 
floor  without  the  aid  of  one's  hands,  but  after  some 
struggling  the  old  man  contrived  to  make  use  of  his  el- 
bows and  rose  to  a  sitting  position. 

Then  he  found  that  his  oiled  canvas  trousers  had  not 
enough  hold  on  the  ice  to  keep  him  from  sliding.      He 
slowly  slipped  down  a  foot  before  he  stopped  himself 
by  digging  his  iron-shod  heels  into  the  thick  scale  of  ice. 
Then  he  looked  around. 

From  the  deep  gulf  before  him  came  faintly  the  click 
of  striking  hammers,  the  ring  of  ball-drills,  the  rattle 
of  carts,  the  shouting  of  drivers,  the  puffing  of  the 
pumping  engine  driven  by  his  son.  At  that  moment 
the  **  toots  for  glycerine  "  sounded  again. 

Macbride  shouted  in  reply,  but  the  wind  blew  so 
fiercely  into  his  face  that  he  knew  his  call  could  not  be 
heard  below.  Above  his  head  the  rope  hung,  swa)dng 
slightly.  He  could  touch  it  with  his  right  hand  when 
he  shifted  both  cans  to  his  left  arm.  But  it  sagged  too 
easily  to  give  him  much  aid  in  rising.  Nevertheless, 
he  was  almost  on  his  feet  when  he  thought  the  cans 
were  slipping  from  his  grasp. 


\ 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


lOI 


:! 


\ 


To  save  them  he  threw  his  right   hand   across   his  ' 
body,  slipped  with  the  motion,  and  came  down  again. 

Once  more  he  saved  himself,  sat  up,  and  wondered 
what  to  do.  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  cans  might 
stand  on  the  ice  beside  him.  But  the  sounds  from  the 
thronged  pit  impressed  him  with  a  strong  sense  of  what 
would  ensue  if  a  can  should  sUp  down.  - 

He  thought,  **  If  I  put  down  a  can  and  try  to  seize 
the  rope  it  might  start  just  when  I'd  let  go,  and  I 
mightn't  be  quick  enough  to  grab  it  again."  The  full 
horror  of  the  situation  was  now  upon  his  mind. 

A  panic  came  over  him.  It  seemed  to  him  he  could 
not  hold  the  cans  securely  enough  while  sitting  up,  so  he 
lay  back.  Then  he  fancied  the  dreadful  packages  were 
less  firmly  in  his  arms  than  before. 

But  he  lay  still.  He  was  afraid  to  try  to  sit  up,  lest 
in  the  effort  he  should  drop  a  can,  and  be  either  in- 
stantly killed  himself,  or  suffer  the  anguish  of  seeing  it 
slide  down  to  mangle  men  in  heaps  about  his  son. 

The  keen  wind  blew  up  Macbride's  trouser-legs  and 
under  his  coat.  It  searched  his  body.  He  had  begun 
to  suffer  from  the  cold.  Still  he  resolutely  held  the 
cans  on  his  stomach,  clasping  them  with  his  forearms 
crossed.  He  would  freeze  there,  he  said  to  himself, 
rather  than  make  another  risky  move. 

At  the  thought  that  he  might  take  off  his  boots,  and 
walk  down  the  slope  in  his  stocking  feet,  the  old  man 
ventured  to  sit  up  again.     It  was  not  easy  to  rise.     His 


102 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


frieze  coat  had  frozen  to  the  ice  a  little.     But  he  pulled 
it  loose  with  a  wrench  of  his  shoulders  and  sat  up. 

Then  he  found  he  could  not  pull  off  his  boots  with- 
out the  use  of  his  hands,  and  he  dared  not  attempt  the 
action  lest  a  can  should  fall. 

"I'm  a  dead  man,"  he  thought.  "The  men  will 
leave  the  pit  by  six  at  latest.  But  the  pumping  engine 
runs  till  eight,  and  my  Tom  will  be  there  till  then.  By 
that  I'll  be  a  corpse — froze  stiff.  Well,  the  boys  will 
take  care  of  the  old  woman.  I'm  doin'  my  duty,  any- 
how.,   God'U  mind  that." 

This  reflection  gave  the  grim  old  laborer  a  sort  of 
pleasure.     It  revived  his  heart. 

"Well,  I  ain't  dead  yet  by  a  good  bit,"  said  he. 
"  Mebby  God's  on'y  trying  me.  He's  fetched  me 
clear  till  now,  and  I  guess  he  will  this  time  too,  if  I  do 
my  best  to  help  myself. " 

So  he  set  about  thinking  again. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  a  can,  if  started  fairly, 
might  be  stopped  by  the  tarpaulin  on  his  platform.  He 
managed  to  get  out  his  jack-knife  and  let  it  slide.  The 
knife  stopped  against  the  tarpaulin.  But  Macbride, 
when  he  pondered  what  would  happen  if  the  can  should 
swerve  aside  on  its  way  down,  refused  to  submit  the 
three  hundred  and  forty  men  to  so  fearful  a  risk.  ^ 

"It's  the  devil  that's  tempting  me,"  thought  the  old 
man,  "but  I'll  beat  him,  so  I  will."  As  he  lay  back 
once  more  he  placed  his  arms  in  a  new  posture. 


\; 


JOHN    MACBRIDE 


103 


of 


I 


\: 


**  When  I'm  froze  stiff  lying  this  way  the  cans  won't 
move,  that's  sure,"  he  said,  with  a  satisfactory  sense 
that  the  devil,  of  whose  personal  existence  he  had  no 
doubt,  would  be  defeated. 

The  sounds  of  work  came  merrily  to  him.  He  had 
a  slow  fancy  of  the  men  trudging  home  to  their  suppers, 
many  thankful  to  be  going  to  their  wives  and  babies. 
He  thought  of  the  women  bustling  about  in  the  lamp- 
light to  feed  their  men.  He  thought  of  his  rough 
comrades,  and  their  fumbling  efforts  to  please  the  chil- 
dren at  home. 

"  It  'ud  be  a  poor  thing  for  me  to  save  myself  and 
stop  all  that,"  thought  Macbride,  and  the  wholesome 
sounds  of  men  striking  for  their  daily  bread  came  still 
more  merrily  from  the  chasm. 

Suddenly  Macbride  began  to  laugh.  But  it  was  a 
very  cautious  laugh.  He  chuckled  and  thought,  and 
chuckled  again.  Then  he  laughed  at  himself,  for 
doubting  that  his  plan  was  all  right. 

**It's  porridge  I've  got  in  my  head  to-day  instead  of 
brains, ' '  said  the  old  man  as  he  sat  up.  *  *  What  sense 
is  in  me  ?     I'm  nowt  but  an  old  fool." 

With  that  he  placed  the  iron  heel  of  his  right  foot 
about  ten  inches  beyond  his  other  heel,  then  he  moved 
for.vard  his  left  heel  in  its  turn,  and  in  two  minutes  was 
safely  on  his  platform.  Of  course  quick  young  readers 
saw  long  ago  that  he  could  easily  descend  in  this 
manner.     But  Macbride  was  a  very  slow-witted  man. 


^ 


*r 


I04 


JOHN    MACDKIDE 


■M- 


He  had  been  for  an  hour  the  prisoner  of  his  own  stu- 
pidity, as  many  people  are,  in  some  fashion,  for  their 
whole  lives. 

Nevertheless,  I  hold  Macbride  to  have  been  a  hero, 
because  he  had  resolved  to  die  rather  than  make  a  mo- 
tion that  might  have  sent  death  down  among  those  men. 

"  What  did  you  do  next  ?  "  I  asked,  when  he  had  at 
great  length  told  me  the  story  of  his  feelings  during  that 
bad  hour. 

"Well,  sir,  if  you'll  not  give  a  whisper  to  the  men 
I'll  tell  you.  I  just  kneeled  down  on  me  knees  and 
cried.  There  was  me  son  and  all  the  boys  all  safe 
below,  and  meself  as  good  as  ever,  and  nobody  a  copper 
worse.  And  to  be  so  near  doing  so  much  harm,  and 
yet  them  to  be  all  striking  away  like  good  felleys — sure 
it  was  for  joy  I  cried,  so  it  was." 

"  Did  you  call  to  them  ?  " 

"Naw — never  a  whisper  till  I  seen  time  would  be 
saved  by  it.  Then  says  I,  *  Hello.  Look  out  for 
glycerine.'     If  you'd  'a'  seen  'em  scatter  ! 

"  *  Have  you  been  sleeping,  Mac,'  yells  the  foreman. 

"  *Ay,  and  dreamin','  say  I  to  myself,  but  I  gev 
him  no  answer,  and  there's  nobody  but  yourself,  sir, 
knows  the  truth  to  this  day. " 


f 


M 


u- 
!ir 


0, 
0- 

n. 
at 
at 

;n 
id 
fe 
er 
id 
re 


THE  LOST  "YVONNE" 


)e 


)r 


!V 


STEAMER 
'King  Phil- 
ip,' McDowell, 
Liverpool,  mdse. 
and  fifty-three 
cabin  passengers, 
arrived  at  7  p.  m. 
yesterday.  Fine 
weather,  with 
moderate  westerly 
winds  throughout 
passage.  Reports  picked  up  sixth  day  out  canvas-cov- 
ered canoe  'Yvonne,'  built  by  Higgins  &  Co.,  Bos- 
ton. Found  a  *  sweater '  and  silver  Waltham  watch, 
No.  2,267,120,  in  'Yvonne.'  Owner  supposed  lost." 
This  is  an  extract  from  the  shipping  news  published 
by  a  Boston  paper  one  morning  last  August.  My 
attention  was  called  to  it  by  a  young  man  who  sat 
beside  me  on  a  train  coming  into  town  from  Riverside. 
He  put  his  thumb  on  the  place  and  handed  me  the 
paper  with  an  excited  gesture.  * 

*  *  My   canoe — my  watch — my  sweater  ! "    he   said. 

los 


io6 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


*'  Been  afloat  three  weeks  to-day.  I  must  go  down  to 
the  *  King  Philip '  and  claim  my  property. '  * 

"Floated  away  by  a  rising  tide  from  some  place 
where  you  had  drawn  the  canoe  up,  I  suppose,"  said  I. 

"No.  Haven't  you  heard  how  I  lost  my  canoe? 
I've  told  so  many  people  about  it  that  I  thought  every- 
body in  West  Newton  knew.  But  I  was  forgetting ; 
you're  almost  a  stranger  there.  Well,  the  'Yvonne', 
was  blown  out  to  sea,  and  I  with  her." 

"You  don't  say  so  !  How  did  you  manage  to  get 
ashore  without  her  ?  " 

* '  That' s  the  story.  I'  11  tell  you  all  about  it.  There' s 
time  enough  before  we  get  to  Boston. '  * 


Three  weeks  ago  to-day  I  got  into  the  "Yvonne" 
at  Kennebunkportand  paddled  out  beyond  the  pier  to 
sea.  The  weather  was  fine  and  the  sea  calm.  There 
wasn't  a  curl  on  the  water,  nothing  but  the  long  ocean 
swell.  Still  I  didn't  feel  quite  comfortable  out  there. 
Were  you  ever  at  sea  in  a  canoe  ?     No  ? 

Well,  perhaps  you  can  imagine  how  the  size  of  the 
wpter  affected  me.  I  had  never  before  been  out  in  a 
canoe  on  anything  wider  than  the  Charles  betweeft 
Riverside  and  Waltham.  It  wasn'  t  that  I  felt  in  danger 
of  capsizing  or  being  unable  to  get  back  to  land ;  but 
an  oppressive  sense  of  the  enormous  spread  of  the  sea 
grew  on  me  as  I  knelt  in  my  cockle-shell  away  out  there, 
with  my  head  only  three  feet  or  so  from  the  billows. 


r' 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


107 


There  was  no  island  on  the  offing ;  nothing  but  sea 
and  sky  and  gulls,  except  the  red  canoe  of  a  young 
Englishman  named  Albert  Edward  Jones,  who  had 
gone  out  from  Kennebunkport  half  an  hour  or  so  before 
I  did. 

We  called  him  **  Wales"  Jones,  and  I  must  jay  that 
a  more  unsociable  chap  than  he  seemed  I  never  came 
across.  I  suspect  now  that  nothing  worse  than  shyness 
was  the  matter  with  him. 

All  day  long  he  was  paddling,  generally  out  at  sea,  and 
certainly  he  was  a  wonderful  hand  in  a  canoe.  Often 
he  would  stay  out  in  a  wind  that  sent  bigger  surf 
ashore  than  most  of  the  bathers  liked,  and  in  he 
would  come,  fairly  slidiftg  along  on  the  crest  of  some 
curling  wave  that  would  welter,  around  his  canoe  near 
the  pier  so  that  you'd  be  sure  he  must  go  down  before 
reaching  quiet  water  in  the  river. 

I  thought  him  foolhardy,  though  I  could  appreciate 
his  great  skill  with  the  paddle.  Most  of  the  summer 
people  regarded  him  as  demented  to  run  such  risks. 

Well,  it  was  the  wish  to  practise  on  big  water  and  the 
hope  to  pick  up  some  of  Wales'  knack  that  took  me 
out  into  the  open  that  day.  I  said  to  myself:  "I'll 
go  out  first  in  a  calm,  and  afterward  in  a  gentle  breeze, 
and  after  that  in  one  not  quite  so  gentle  ;  and  if  I  don' t 
get  drowned,  I'll  gradually  learn  how  to  manage  a  canoe 
like  Wales." 

But   the  sea  is    treacherous;  you   don't  catch   me 


io8 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


fooling  with  it  any  more  on  the  calculation  that  it  will 
stay  just  so. 

As  I  withstood  my  nervous  feeling  it  nearly  dis- ' 
appeared,  and  I  paddled  out  perhaps  a  mile.  The 
weather  was  perfectly  clear  ;  there  was  just  a  breath  of 
air  from  the  south  at  first.  This  died  away  after  a 
while  ;  the  afternoon  sun  beat  fiercely  down,  and  yet  I 
sat  so  close  to  the  cool  water  that  I  was  not  uncomfort- 
ably hot. 

I  was  paddling  in  "trunks,"  with  my  well-tanned 
arms  and  shins  bare.  My  sweater  and  my  watch  were 
in  the  stern,  for  I  knelt  before  the  second  thwart. 

Instead  of  coming  toward  me,  as  any  American  fel- 
low would  have  done  on  seeing  me,  Wales  stood  far- 
ther out,  and  I  could  barely  make  out  the  gleam  of 
his  red  canoe  through  the  heat  spirals  and  the  faint 
mist  that  cling  close  to  the  sea  on  a  hot,  calm  day. 
When  I  became  convinced  that  he  either  didn't  see 
me  or  wouldn't  come  in  for  a  chat,  I  began  to  think  of 
turning  back  to  shore. 

In  fact,  I  did  return,  but  I  still  had  plenty  of  day- 
light ahead  of  me ;  the  shore  seemed  not  more  than  a 
mile  away,  and  I  just  sat  there  without  paddling  and 
let  her  swing  on  the  billows. 

I  suppose  I  must  have  fallen  into  a  sort  of  dream. 
Though  I  did  not  sleep  nor  close  my  eyes,  I  wasn't 
taking  notice  of  anything.  How  long  this  lasted  I  can't 
say,  but  I  was  suddenly  roused  by  a  faint  shout  from 


THE   LOST  •* YVONNE' 


109 


seaward.  At  that  I  turned  to  see  "Wales"  Jones 
coming  in  at  a  great  pace. 

His  double-bladed  paddle  was  going  like  the  arms 
of  an  old-fashioned  windmill.  He  was  within  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  or  so  of  me,  and  I  could  make  out  that  he 
was  down  on  one  knee,  with  the  other  leg  thrust  out  in 
front  of  him — his  favorite  attitude  for  putting  on  all 
steam. 

I  got  it  into  my  head  that  he  was  "hitting  it  up,'* 
as  he  calls  speeding,  by  way  of  showing  me  his  superior 
pace  ;  but  pretty  soon  he  rose  up  to  his  feet,  pointed 
to  shore  with  his  paddle,  and  shouted  some  words  that 
I  couldn't  make  out. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  gesture,  though.  I 
looked  ashore  to  see  the  sky  blackening  with  the  com- 
ing of  a  squall. 

Well,  sir,  in  about  one  minute,  I  guess,  there  was 
no  shore  to  be  seen.  It  had  been  blotted  out.  A 
front  of  rain  and  wind  came  fairly  shrieking  over  the 
water.  I  knew  there  was  no  use  trying  to  paddle  or 
control  the  *  Yvonne '  ;  the  best  thing  I  could  do  wasc 
to  lie  down,  and  so  give  her  my  body  for  low  ballast. 

As  I  stretched  myself  out  in  the  bottom,  the  squall 
broke  over  me  with  a  fury  that  passed  almost  as  quickly 
as  it  came.  It  was  just  as  though  some  vast  mouth  had 
opened,  given  one  long,  mighty  puff,  and  closed  again. 

Little  more  sea  had  risen  than  would  come  on  a 
big  pond  with  such  a  sudden  gale.     But  where  was 


no 


THE   LOST  "  YVONNE 


Wales  ?  I  looked  back  as  I  turned  toward  shore.  ;  In 
the  distance  I  saw  the  squall  racing  away  ;  I  was  con- 
fident that  it  had  fled  past  where  I  had  seen  the  Eng- 
lishman, yet  not  a  glimpse  of  his  red  canoe  did  I  catch. 

Before  I  had  fairly  searched  the  seaward  horizon 
the  wind  came  up  of  which  the  squall  had  been  a  fore- 
runner. It  was  not  what  you'd  call  a  great  wind,  but 
from  the  first  I  could  feel  that  it  was  going  to  be  a 
steady  and  a  rising  wind.  It  blew  straight  from  shore, 
and  I  put  in  my  paddle  with  wonder  whether  I  had 
strength  to  make  head  against  it  long  enough  to  save 
myself  from  being  blown  out  to  sea. 

I  was  in  good  condition,  for  I  had  been  paddling 
on  the  Riverside  reach  six  or  eight  miles  almost  every 
day  since  April,  but  pretty  soon  I  began  to  see  that  I 
could  not  make  the  shore. 

The  wind  was  no  gale,  you  understand,  but  it  was  dead 
against  me,  and  its  pressure  was  as  steady  as  a  jack- 
screw's.  The  ** Yvonne"  is  one  of  these  ** girling" 
canoes,  made  on  the  bark  canoe  model,  and  Jtoo  high 
in  the  sides  and  ends  for  work  in  wind.  Perhaps  you 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  keep  a  canoe  of  that  model 
straight  into  the  wind's  eye? 

Well  then,  you  can  fancy  how  she  yawed — fell  off 
first  to  this  side,  and  then  when  I  corrected  her,  to  the 
other- — as  her  nose  caught  the  wind  on  coming  up  over 
wave  after  wave. 

The  sea  was  rising.     It  was  not  high,  it  was  not  yet 


THE    LOST  ••YVONNE 


III 


dangerous.  I  was  under  no  fear  of  capsizing  or  being 
swamped  ;  my  fear  was  only  that  I  could  not  make 
head  against  wave  and  wind.  Not  to  do  so  meant 
being  blown  out  to  sea. 

I  could,  I  soon  saw,  get  through  the  water  more 
quickly  by  steering  half  across  seas  instead  of  dead 
against  them,  but  I  was  sure  the  *  Yvonne  '  drifted  side- 
wise  when  I  gave  her  quarter  at  all  to  the  breeze. 
Those  wide-bottomed  canoes  have  no  such  hold  on  the 
water  as  a  Peterboro  or  a  Rob  Roy.  Of  course  I  could 
gain  nothing  by  running  quickly  at  an  angle  to  the 
shore  if  I  were  drifting  out  from  it  at  the  same  time,  so 
I  doggedly  stuck  to  my  straight-at-the-wind  paddling. 

My  one  hope  was  that  some  yacht  or  catboat  would 
come  to  me  before  my  strength  went;  but  not  a 
vestige  of  canvas  could  I  see  except  the  sprit-sail  of 
some  boat  running  to  and  fro  in  the  river  inside  the 
Kennebunkport  pier.  I  could  see  many  people  ashore, 
like  puppets  moving  about,  but  I  well  knew  that  they 
were  so  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  Wales  at  sea  that 
they  would  never  imagine  me  to  be  in  danger  in  waves 
much  smaller  than  the  Englishman  played  with. 

Sea  and  wind  gradually  rose  till  I  doubted  whether 
I  was  gaining  an  inch.  Little  white  caps  began  to 
break  near  me,  and  greater  ones  in  the  northern  and 
southern  distances.  If  waves  with  formidable  crests 
arose  I  was  sure  they  would  pour  over  the  *  Yvonne's' 
sides. 


I  12 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


All  the  time  I  was  thinking  of  the  fate  of  Wales, 
fancying  how  his  body  was  drifting  down  and  down  far 
behind  me,  and  imagining  the  same  ending  for  myself. 
Twice  I  had  turned  to  glance  behind  without  making 
out  his  low-sided  red  canoe,  so  I  was  the  more  con- 
vinced she  had  been  rolled  upside  down  in  the  squall. 

Hello  t  is  this  Brighton  Station  ?  I  shall  have  to 
hurry  up  with  the  story.  Well,  I  suppose  I  struggled 
in  that  situation  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour  without 
gaining  fifty  yards.  All  the  time  the  waves  were  comb- 
ing up  higher  till  the  crests  ran  past  me  in  a  swirl  of 
bubbles.  As  the  boys  say,  I  thought  my  name  was 
Dennis  ;  and  then  I  heard  a  distinct  ' '  Ahoy,  there  ! ' ' 

I  turned  to  the  north  to  see  Wales  not  more  than 
two  hundred  yards  away.  He  was  easily  making  head 
against  the  sea  though  not  running  into  the  eye  of  the 
wind,  but  half  across  seas.  I  never  saw  anything 
prettier. 

.  Up  he  would  climb  lightly ;  on  the  crest  his  bow 
hovered  in  a  boil  of  white  water  which  he  took  always 
on  his  quarter  with  a  movement  that  seemed  to  tip  his 
canoe  away  from  the  crest ;  then  out  would  shoot  the 
red  witch  of  a  Peterboro  till  half  her  length  seemed  to 
glisten  clear  of  water,  and  down  she  went  with  the 
careless  sweep  of  a  gull.  But  Wales  was  not  making 
toward  me.  His  course  was  at  an  angle  away  from 
mine,  and  from  his  peculiar  swing  it  was  plain  that  he 
was  in  a  state  of  high  satisfaction. 


THE    LOST  "YVONNE 


>• 


113 


•*  Ahoy,  there  !  "  he  shouted  again. 

••  Ahoy  !"  I  answered. 

"Are  you  all  riglif  ?" 

•*No,  all  wrong." 

"That  so?     Then  I'll  come  to  you." 

With  one  stroke  of  his  long  paddle  he  turned  to 
the  left  in  the  trough,  rose,  taking  the  next  crest  on  his 
north  quarter,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  close  along- 
side. 

"Are  you  making  headway?"  he  asked  me.     . 

I  told  him  I  thought  not. 

"Let  me  see,"  said  he,  and  kept  even  pace  with 
me  for  a  minute. 

"No,  you're  losing,"  he  said.  "  I  wondered  why 
I  was  overhauling  you  so  fast.  Of  course  she  drifts  if 
you  give  the  wind  her  quarter.  It's  a  bad  scrape. 
Are  you  doing  all  you  can  ?  " 

"  Every  pound,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  " 

"Nothing  tc  do.  I  might  as  well  let  her  drift,  but 
for  the  shame  of  giving  up  so." 

"Gammon,"  he  said,  and  laughed. 

I  thought  this  rather  heartless,  but  said  nothing. 

"I  might  get  ashore  and  send  out  a  catboat,"  he 
said  doubtfully. 

"I  wish  to  goodness  you  would  then,"  I  answered. 

"But  then  no  catboat  might  be  ready.  Or  it 
might  miss  you.     No  ;  one  of  us  must  lose  his  canoe. ' ' 

H 


114 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


■  t: 


"That's  pretty  clear — and  myself  too,"  said  I. 

"Gammon  !  The  question  is  shall  I  get  in  with 
you  or  you  get  in  with  me  ?  " 

*  *  Gracious,  you  can' t  change  into  my  canoe  in  this 
sea!     And  your  canoe  won't  carry  us  both." 

"She  won't,  eh?"   he  said,  as  if  annoyed.  ' 

I   suppose   my  remark  decided    him,   for    he   was 


extremely  proud  of  his  canoe.  Next  instant  he  ran 
her  bow  close  alongside  of  the  '  *  Yvonne, ' '  and  spoke 
with  an  air  of  setthng  the  whole  matter. 

'  *  Now  do  exactly  what  I  say.  .When  my  canoe 
touches  the  side  of  yours  grab  it  and  hold  the  two — 
both  rails,  mind — hold  them  together.  Then  rise  up 
quickly,  keep  both  hands  on  the  two  edges — the  canoes 
will  steady  one  another  that  way — then  step  right  into 
my  bow  in  front  of  the  forward  thwart.     You  under- 


THE    LOST  "YVONNE 


115 


:h 


IS 


as 


stand?  All  right  then.  The  moment  you're  on 
your  knees  in  my  canoe  let  yours  go,  and  we'll  daddle 
this  old  sea  yet  !  "  he  concluded,  with  a  queer  burst  of 
exultation. 

On  going  up  the  next  crest  I  did  exactly  as  he  said. 
The  "Yvonne"  took  the  curl  on  her  quarter,  and 
sheltered  his  red  canoe  so  perfectly  that  she  didn't  ship 
a  dipperful.  As  I  knelt,  Wales  shifted  back  to  his 
canoe's  stern  and  cried,    "  Let  go  !  " 

Next  instant  we  were  rising  up  a  wave.  My  Eng- 
lishman was  so  clever  that  he  somehow  shouldered  ofif 
that  crest  without  wetting  me  at  all,  and  so  we  went 
on  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  every  wave  threaten- 
ing to  swamp  us,  and  e\  ry  crest  thrust  away  as  by  a 
sort  of  miracle. 

After  my  nerves  had  got  a  little  used  to  this  sort 
of  thing — mind  you,  we  hadn't  more  than  six  inches 
of  free  board,  and  but  for  his  dexterous  tipping  her 
away  from  the  crests  any  one  of  them  would  have 
poured  over — after  I  had  begun  to  feel  a  bit  easy,  I 
said  : 

'  *  Hang  it  all,  I  forgot  my  watch  and  sweater. ' ' 

"Well,  I  don't  think  we  can  turn  back  safely,"  he 
said,  as  if  he  seriously  thought  of  doing  so. 

'  *  Turn  back  !  Not  for  all  the  watches  at  Waltham 
and  all  the  sweaters  in  America,"   I  said. 

Well,  we're  almost  at  Huntington  Avenue.  There's 
nothing  more  to  tell,  exce])t  that  we  got  into  the  lee  of 


i-^- 


Ii6 


THE   LOST  "YVONNE 


the  shore  in  half  an  hour,  and  landed  all  right.  When 
we  did  so  I  turned  to  Wales — I  was  pretty  grateful, 
you  may  be  sure — and  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand : 
"You've  saved  my  life.  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart. ' '     What  do  you  suppose  he  answered  ? 

*  *  I  can' t  imagine.     What  was  it  ?  " 

Simply  *  *  Gammon  ! ' '  Then  he  went  off  alone  to 
his  hotel,  and  1'  ve  never  seen  him  from  that  moment. 


t 


11 


"DORINDA" 


<< 


PLEASE  give   me   a   small  vial  of  chloroform, 
enough  for  a  cat, ' '  said  Mrs.  Lister  to  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  pharmacy  in  East  Newburg,  a  suburb  of 
Boston. 

"That's  the  way  to  deal  with  cats,"  said  he,  turning 
to  his  shelves  for  the  anaesthetic.  **It's  just  dreadful 
how  some  of  these  poor  things  suffer  when  the  families 
go  away  for  the  summer  ! " 

**  If  I  could  take  ours  with  me — but " 

**  All  the  way  to  Germany  and  back?  Well,  I  guess 
not,  Mrs.   Lister."       ^ 

**My  son  couldn't  be  bothered  with  her.  Henry's 
going  to  take  his  holiday  in  California,  you  know.  And 
what  does  any  young  man  care  about  a  cat  ?  " 

'*I  think  I  see  Henry  Lister  lugging  a  cat  'round 
with  him  'cross  the  continent!"  said  the  druggist 
with  some  derision.  **But  there's  Mr.  Lister."  He 
almost  winked  at  the  absurdity  of  this  suggestion. 

**  My  husband  is  going  to  lodge  in  Boston  all  summer 
— he  is  so  busy  he  can't  get  away  at  all.  No,  I  must 
give  it  chloroform  ;  there  is  no  other  way.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  think  of  it  prowling  around  without  any  home." 

"7 


ii8 


UORINDA 


**  Certainly  not,  Mrs.  Lister,  certainly  not,"  said 
the  druggist,  really  wondering  a  little  at  the  soft-hearted- 
ness  of  Mrs.  Lister,  whose  rdle  was  that  of  the  strong- 
minded  woman. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  of  an  evening  of  late  June, 
when  she  left  the  pharmacy.  As  she  walked  up  the 
long  hill  of  East  Newburg  with  the  chloroform  in  her 
pocket,  her  heart  was  sore  with  sorrow  for  the  cat  and 
herself  Dorinda  had  been  in  the  family  for  three  years. 
A  sense  of  meditating  something  uncomfortably  like 
murder  oppressed  Mrs.  laster.  Yet  no  one,  she  was 
sure,  except  herself,  loved  Dorinda  enough  to  care 
whether  she  starved  in  homelessness,  fell  a  victim  to 
dogs,  went  wild  in  trying  to  live  by  bird-catching  in  the 
chestnut  woods  about  the  Newburgs,  perished  by  some 
boy's  gun,  or  died  by  her  mistress'  hand.  But,  oh, 
the  pity  of  it,  that  she  must  thus  save  Dorinda  from  the 
woes  of  desertion !  •  , 

It  was  not  fairly  her  duty,  thought  Mrs.  Lister.  Her 
husband  or  her  son  should  have  had  forethought  of  this 
dark  deed  and,  in  mercy  to  her,  proposed  to  under- 
take it.  It  could  be  no  grief  to  them,  both  so  impas- 
sive and  reserved.  But  she  had  never  thought  of  ask- 
ing either  of  them  to  do  it ;  that  would  be  to  confess 
herself  sentimental,  and  she  prided  herself  on  being  a 
firm  character. 

As  she  walked  over  her  dewy  lawn  in  the  faint  moon- 
light, almost  ready  to  forsake   her  European  trip  for 


/ 


DOR  IN  DA 


119 


Dorinda'ssake,  the  doomed  animal  lay  in  her  husband's 
lap.  He  was  sitting  in  the  hammock  swung  on  the 
wide  side-piazza,  stroking  Dorinda  gently  and  looking 
out  over  the  trees  that  lay  down  the  hill  toward  the 
valley  of  the  Charles  River,  its  spaces  i\poded  with 
vague  moonshine  and  punctuated  with  electric  lamps. 

Mr.  Lister  had  quite  forgotten  that  he  was  stroking 
the  cat,  for  he  was  thinking,  in  an  absent,  heart-hungry 
way,  of  the  years  when  he  and  his  wife  had  not  yet 
ceased  from  demonstrative  affection  for  one  another. 
Though  business  usually  so  absorbed  him,  and  the 
* '  Woman' s  Club ' '  so  occupied  her,  how  lonesome  would 
he  find  the  long  months  alone  in  Boston  lodgings,  miles 
away  from  this  dear,  familiar  scene  !  It  seemed  particu- 
larly hard  that  his  wife  should  have  spent  this  last  even- 
ing before  the  summer  break-up  at  church,  where  a 
special  meeting  of  the  ' '  Ladies'  General  Culture  Club ' ' 
was  being  held  to  receive  her  belated  report  on  the  appli- 
cation of  electricity  to  Mr.  Edward  Atkinson's  cooker. 
But  Mr.  Lister  had  never  thought  of  asking  her  to  fore- 
go that  duty. 

As  he  heard  his  wife's  steps  on  the  gravel  path,  he 
put  Dorinda  softly  down  on  the  piazza  floor ;  Elvira 
would,  of  course,  be  contemptuous  if  she  caught  him 
petting  a  cat.  Dorinda  trotted  softly,  tail  up,  to  meet 
her  mistress.  But  Mrs.  Lister  could  not  bear  to  take 
the  cat  up  in  her  arms,  the  confidence  of  the  creature 
made  her  feel  herself  to  be  a  treacherous  hypocrite. 


I20 


it 


DOR  IN  DA 


It  was  SO  difficult  for  her  to  keep  back  her  tears  that 
her  face,  as  she  opened  the  wire  front  door  and  came 
into  the  glare  of  the  hall  electric  light,  looked  hard  and 
set  to  her  husband,  who  hud  risen  and  come  around 
the  corner  to  greet  her. 

"Well,  Elvira,  how  did  the  meeting  gooff?"  he 
said,  but  she,  not  daring  to  trust  herself  to  reply, 
walked  upstairs  and  turned  into  her  study.  Mr.  Lister 
went  back  to  the  hammock  with  a  sigh.  It  was  shock- 
ing that  his  wife  should  have  "woman's  work"  even 
yet  to  do  ;  but  that  must  be  so,  judging  from  the  sharp 
snick  of  her  study  door.  .^   . 

Dorinda  had  followed  her  mistress  upstairs,  and  Mr. 
Lister,  hearing  the  cat  meow,  quite  pitied  the  neglected 
creature.  He  was  too  loyal  to  his  wife  to  let  his 
thought  that  she  was  very  hard-hearted  formulate  it- 
self clearly.  For  a  few  minutes  Dorinda  stood  meowing 
outside  the  study  door,  while  Mrs.  Lister  put  the  chloro- 
form, with  a  gesture  of  loathing,  into  a  closed  box  on 
her  pigeon-holed  desk.  As  she  listened  to  Dorinda' s 
voice  tl  die  was  a  look  of  pity  and  horror  in  her  face 
that  would  have  amazed  most  of  her  emancipating 
sisterhood. 

"I  want  to  come  in,  for  I  love  you  dearly,"  said  the 
long-drawn  meows  very  plainly. 

Mrs.  Lister,  putting  her  hands  to  her  ears  in  a  wild 
way,  looked  desperately  at  two  corded  trunks,  and  a 
t'  ird  one  that  lay  open  for  the  last  things  to  be  packed 


it 


' 


r 


DORINDA 


121 


■ 


\ 


\ 


in  at  break  of  day.     When  she  took  her  hands  from  her 
ears,  she  no  longer  heard  the  cat. 

Dorinda,  losing  patience,  had  walked  along  the  hall, 
sidling  with  waving  tail  into  the  open  door  of  a  room 
where  sat  a  tall,  sunburned  youth  studying  the  railway 
map  of  California.  Feeling  the  cat  against  his  legs,  he 
stuck  a  black-headed  pin  into  the  map  to  mark  his  point, 
stooped  and  lifted  Dorinda  to  his  lap,  which  the  desk 
concealed.  Then,  stroking  Dorinda  with  his  big  brown 
right  hand,  he  resumed  his  study  by  aid  of  the  left. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  he  heard  his  father  coming 
upstairs,  Henry  softly  moved  to  be  sure  that  Dorinda  was 
concealed,  and  peered  into  guide  books  so  intently  that 
his  father  said  never  a  word  of  good-night  to  disturb 
him. 

How  this  family  of  three  people  had  come  to  such  a 
condition  that  no  one  of  them  had  ever  seen  another 
caressing  Dorinda  would  be  a  long  tale.  True,  they  nat- 
urally admired  reserve,  but  the  habit  of  suppressing 
signs  of  affectionate  emotion  had  grown  to  a  degree 
which  would  have  shocked  the  father  had  he  foreseen  it 
when  his  early  preoccupation  with  business  threw  his 
wife  back  upon  herself.  It  h..d  grown  to  a  degree  which 
she  had  never  forecast  when  she  resolutely  threw  her 
energies  into  **  woman's  work." 

Young  Henry  remembered  with  poignancy  the  days 
when  his  father  and  mother — always  separately — had 
been  wont  to  cuddle  him,  as  a  little  boy.     Now — for 


z' 


122 


DORINDA 


youth  is  imitative  and  Harvard  a  forcing  house  of  self- 
sufficiency — he  had  grown  into  simulated  as  well  as  real 
preoccupation,  isolation,  and  self-dependence.  They 
lived,  these  three,  on  terms  of  undoubting  good-will, 
but  never  a  kiss,  nor  a  cordial,  emotional  expression, 
nor  a  good  cry  together,  comforted  the  hunger  of  their 
hearts  for  demonstrative  love. 

It  was  very  late  that  night  when  Mrs.  Lister,  with  the 
chloroform  in  her  hand,  softly  opened  the  hall  door  of 
her  study  and  peered  out,  waiting  for  Dorinda  to  come. 
Now  she  was  nerved  for  the  sad  deed.  She  had  de- 
layed long,  to  be  sure  that  her  husband  and  son  were 
sleeping.  But  now  she  must  do  it  ;  in  the  morning 
there  would  be  no  time  for  the  tragedy  and  burial. 
Mrs.  Lister  had  a  clear  vision  of  the  very  spot  in  the 
big  flower-bed  where  she  meant,  with  her  garden  spade, 
to  inter  Dorinda' s  piteous  remains  by  the  light  of  the 
moon.  V ' 

As  she  saw  nothing  of  the  cat,  she  cautiously  opened 
the  door  between  her  study  and  her  bedroom  There 
lay  her  husband  apparently  asleep,  really  very  wide 
awake,  for  he  had  been  long  lying  and  looking  out  of  the 
open  window  at  the  valley  and  the  lights  of  the  Charles. 
He  was  sorer  at  heart  now,  thinking  how  his  wife  main- 
tained her  isolation  to  the  last  moment  before  their 
long  parting.  But  he  closed  his  eyes,  fearing  she  should 
suspect  him  of  silly  sentimentality,  as  she  turned  on  a 
small  electric  lamp  and  looked  into  his  face. 


f 


/ 


DORINDA 


123 


r 


**  How  can  he  be  so  callous  as  to  sleep  so  in  vit'  •  of 
the  morrow  ?  "  thought  she  bitterly,  smothering  a  sigh. 

Peeping  furtively  at  his  wife  as  she  looked  for  the  cat, 
Mr.  Lister  saw  the  chloroform  vial  and  a  sponge  in  her 
hand. 

**What  can  she  be  up  to?"  thought  he;  "and 
what  on  earth  is  she  looking  for  ?  " 

When  she  turned  off  the  electric  lamp,  softly  closed 
her  study  door,  struck  a  match,  lit  a  wax  candle,  and 
went  downstairs,  Mr.  Lister  quietly  rose,  opened  the 
door  into  the  upper  hall,  and  stood  looking  over  the 
balusters. 

**  Pussy;  pussy,  pussy,"  he  could  hear  his  wife  whis- 
pering.    What  could  she  want  pussy  for? 

He  heard  her  go  through  the  drawing  room,  the 
library,  the  dining  room,  still  faintly  whispering, 
**Puss-sy,  puss-sy."  He  heard  her  go  out  into  the 
kitchen  parts,  where  she  stayed  long  enough  to  have 
searched  every  pantry  and  store  room.  Back  she  came, 
whispering,  "Pussy,  pussy,"  more  loudly,  and  down 
into  the  cellar  she  went  for  quite  a  long  visit.  Then, 
still  whispering  for  Dorinda,  she  ascended,  opened  the 
front  doors,  and  went  out  upon  the  piazza,  where  her 
husband  now  believed  the  cat  must  be. 

He  hastily  half  dressed  himself,  and  went  down- 
stairs. The  truth  had  flashed  on  him.  She  was  about 
to  chloroform  the  cat  !  With  a  strange,  unusual  pity 
for  his  wife,  whose  weakness  he  suddenly  surmised,  and 


124 


DORINDA 


anger  at  her  project,  he  met  her  coming  up  the  front 
steps  from  her  bewildered  tour  of  the  flower  garden. 

"  What's  the  trouble,  Elvira  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  1  understand  you,  George." 

"Well,  1  beg  your  pardon  if  I'm  wrong,  but  I 
thought  you  were  looking  for  Dorinda. "  \ 

"So  I  have  been." 

"Not  to  chloroform  her,  surely  !  I  see  the  bottle 
in  your  hand." 

"Yes,"  in  a  hard  voice.  "It's  mere  humanity  to 
save  her  from  homelessness. " 

"Humanity  !  Why,  Elvira,  hadn't  you  better  chloro- 
form me  ?  You'd  be  cruel  enough  to  leave  me  without 
even  the  cat !  " 

"Cruel  to  you — I  don't  understand  you,  George. 
You  are  going  to  live  in  Boston." 

"Well,  can't  there  be  any  cruelty  to  any  one  living 
in  Boston  ?     You  don't  suppose  I'm  going  wiihjut  the 
cat?" 
-    "You,  George?" 

"Yes;  I'm  fond  of  that  cat,"  he  said  doggedly. 
"Laugh  at  me  if  you  Hke ;  I  am.  She's  all  I  shall 
have  when  you  and  Henry  go." 

"  Well,  George  Lister  !  "  She  laid  her  left  hand  on 
his  arm,  looked  hard  at  him,  and  almost  began  to  cry 
in  a  way  that  quite  shamed  them  both.  But  soon  she 
pulled  herself  together  and  spoke  :  '  *  Well,  George, 
you  certainly  do  amaze  me.     Why,  I  thought  you  just 


i 


/ 


DOR  IN  DA 


125 


I 


1 


;t 


hated  Dorinda.  I  often  thought  how  hard  you  were 
when  pussy  would  go  rubbing  against  your  chair  or 
your  legs  and  you  wouldn't  ever  stoop  to  pick  her  up,  or 
even  caress  her. "   ,  . 

"So  did  I."  ' 

*'What?" 

"  I  thought  the  same  of  you." 

•*  But  I  always  took  her  up  when  you  were  not  there 
to  feel  like  laughing  at  me. " 

"So  did  I,  when  you  weren't  there,  Elvira." 

"So  you  were  fond  of  Dorinda  and  didn't  want  me 
to  know  it,  George  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  guess  we've  both  been  making  a  big  mis- 
take, Elvira." 

"Why,  George,  didn't  you  ever  suspect  that  I  took 
Dorinda  as  a  kitten  because  I  just  had  to  have  some- 
thing that  would  let  me  pet  it,  after  Henry  got  too 
big?" 

"  Elvira — dear — "  the  man  paused  long.  "  Do  you 
remember  the  times  when  we  were  young  together  ?  ' ' 
he  whispered.  ,       tt 

"George — "  he  could  scarcely  hear  her.  "And 
yet  we've  grown  apart — you  gradually  got  so  busy." 

*  *  Yes,  Elvira,  it  was  all  my  fault ;  I  see  it  now. ' ' 

"  No,  for  I  took  up  the  'Work,'  "  she  said,  shamed 
by  his  magnanimity. 

They  went  arm  in  arm  to  the  hammock,  and  sat 
there  awhile  afraid  of  their  emotion. 


126 


i< 


DOR  IN  DA 


"It's  SO  Strange,"  said  Mrs.  Lister  in  an  eerie  tone, 
and  with  a  slight  shiver.  '*lt  seems  almost  as  if  she 
had  suspected  what  was  in  my  mind,  and  had  gone 
away. '  • 

••  It  makes  me  feel  superstitious  too,  Elvira.  But 
let's  look  around  for  her  together." 

So  they  searched  the  grounds  in  the  moonlight  with 
recovered  reserve,  under  the  fear  that  some  wakeful 
neighbor  might  look  out  on  them  engaged  in  that  piece 
of  strange  sentimentalism.  Then  they  searched  the 
cellar,  the  ground  floor,  the  bedroom  floor,  all  in  vain. 

"She  can't  be  upstairs  in  the  servants'  floor,"  said 
Mrs.  Lister. 

"No,  I  had  her  after  the  girls  went  to  bed  early, 
for  they  have  to  be  up  before  daylight  to  start  you, 
'  Viry.  Fact  is,  I  was  stroking  Dorinda  in  my  lap  when 
you  came  across  the  lawn. " 

"You  were,  George?  And  you  were  ashamed  to 
let  me  know  it !  " 

"And  you  to  pick  her  up  when  she  ran  to  you. 
Beats  all  how  blind  we've  been  about  that  cat.  But 
where  can  she  be  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  she  could  be  in  Henry's  room?  " 

"Oh,  no.  He'd  be  sure  to  drive  her  out.  Henry 
never  even  looks  friendly  at  her. ' ' 

"But  she  might  have  gone  in  and  curled  up  asleep 
somewhere,  so  he  didn't  notice  her." 

"  Well,  maybe.      Let's  peep  in."         ^ 


nORlNDA 


127 


\ 


Mrs.  Lister  shaded  her  candle  with  one  hand,  while 
her  husband  gently  opened  the  door.  On  the  bed, 
nearly  on  his  back,  lay  the  young  athlete,  with  only  a 
sheet  over  1  ini  in  the  warm  June  night.  One  strong 
forearm,  half-bared  from  the  wrist,  and  sun-browned 
with  much  boating,  lay  outstretched  along  the  pillows. 
Its  corded  muscles  made  a  pillow  for  Dorinda.  She  had 
curled  herself  on  the  arm  as  if  satisfied  that  it  would 
never  move  to  her  hurt,  and  even  yet  she  did  not  seem 
disturbed. 

As  the  parents  approached  the  bed,  on  opposite 
sides,  Henry  drew  a  short  breath  and  half  turned  on 
his  side,  but  without  changing  the  position  of  his  right 
arm.  Still  Dorinda,  though  she  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  at  the  in-comers,  did  not  move.  Instead,  she 
snuggled  down  and  began  to  purr  softly,  seemingly 
pleased  to  be  seen  on  such  good  terms  with  the  young 
giant.  The  picture  moved  the  parents  deeply.  Henry's 
brown  face  wore  the  ineffable  half-smile  of  his  early  boy- 
hood. So  he  had  looked  often  when  his  father  let  him 
go  to  sleep  in  his  arms  before  the  fire.  So  he  had  looked 
often,  vaguely  thought  the  mother,  when  she  crooned 
the  song  after  lulling  him.  Now  the  purring  of  the  cat 
seemed  to  penetrate  his  dream  with  a  sense  of  voiced 
affection.  And  his  father  and  mother  felt  sorely  how 
they  had  grown,  during  four  or  five  years,  to  think  of 
him  as  really  self-sufficient,  impassive,  hard-headed, 
needing  no  clear  expressions  oi  love. 


128 


DORINDA 


>f 


Mrs.  Lister  reached  out  her  hand  and  stroked  the 
cat.  Still  Henry  did  not  waken.  They  were  half 
afraid  to  rouse  him  ;  he  would  be  so  vexed  at  the  dis- 
covery of  his  chumming  with  Dorinda. 

As  Mrs.  Lister  touched  the  blue  ribbon  around  the 
cat's  neck,  she  noticed  that  a  long  cord  was  tied  to  it, 
and  with  much  amazement,  motioned  to  her  husband 
to  behold  that  the  cord  was  tied  to  the  brass  bedstead. 
Just  then  Henry  woke,  and  Mrs.  Lister  lifted  the  cat 
in  her  arms.  The  youth  sat  up,  clutching  at  the  open 
neck  of  his  nightshirt,  and  staring  with  wonder  at  his 
parents. 

As  he  saw  the  cat  in  his  mother's  arms,  a  rush  of 
blood  went  over  his  brown  face  and  white  upper  fore- 
head. Then  he  looked  sheepish.  Then  he  looked 
deeply  offended.  But  he  did  not  speak.  His  parents 
hardly  dared  address  him. 

"You  see,  Henry,  we  were  just  looking  around  for 
the  cat,  that's  all,"  said  Mrs.  Lister  awkwardly. 

*' Yes,  mother.     Well,  you've  found  her." 

"Your  mother  feels  sorry  to  be  leaving  the  cat,  you 
see,  Henry.      She  was  going  to  chloroform  her,"  said 

Mr.  Lister;   "but  I " 

.    "Well,  I  guess  not  !  "  said  Henry  sharply.    "  Chlo- 
roform Dorinda  !     Why  mother!" 

*  *  I  was  afraid  she  would  be  homeless,  Henry,  and  so 
in  mercy "  / 

"  Homeless  !     Not  much.     Why  she's  going " 


J 


.   ■  \ 


1 


DORINDA 


129 


1 1 


**  It's  all  right,  Henry,  after  all,"  the  mother  hastily 
interposed.  '  *  Your  father' s  going  to  keep  her  in  Boston 
with  him. ' ' 

"In  Boston?  The  idea!  Why  father  couldn't; 
she'd  starve.  How  could  father  be  bothered?  I'm 
going  to  take  Dorinda  with  me. " 

•'You,  Henry — to  California  and  back?  How  could 
you  possibly  do  it  ?  " 

"Why,  in  a  covered  basket,  of  course.  That's  why 
I  tied  her  up,  don't  you  see,  for  fear  she'd  go  away 
somewhere  in  the  morning  so  I  couldn't  find  her.  You 
couldn't  expect  father  to  worry  himself  taking  c?.re  of  a 
cat,  mother." 

'  *  But  father  wants  to,  Henry.  That  was  his  plan 
before  he  knew  mine." 

Henry  looked  at  his  father  with  staring  wonder. 

"It's  so,  Henry,"  said  Mr.  Lister  defensively. 
"Why,  hang  it  all,  what  are  you  surprised  about? 
S'pose  I'm  not  fond  of  the  cat?  Why,  she'll  be  the 
only  home  thing  I  shall  have.  I've  got  to  have  her, 
don't  you  understand?  "  , 

Henry  held  out  one  big  hand  to  his  father  and  the 
other  to  his  mother.  Without  a  word  the  two  sat  down 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  bed  and  looked  into  a  face  they 
had  not  seen  so  happily  moved  for  five  or  six  years. 
The  mother,  holding  the  cat  out  in  her  hands,  pushed 
its  head  affectionately  against  Henry's  brown  neck. 
Then  she  leaned  forward  and   kissed   him,  while  the 


I30 


DORINDA 


father  held  Henry's  hand  tightly  in  both  his  and  said 
nothing. 

"Well,  father,"  said  Henry  after  a  long  pause,  **of 
course  a  fellow  knows  his  father  is  just  as  good  and  kind, 
you  know — and  everything — letting  a  fellow  go  to  Cali- 
fornia and  all  that ;  but — ^why,  I  never  thought  you 
would  miss  us  that  way",  father,  and  Dorinda  too. ' ' 

Perhaps  they  could  not  have  talked  in  daylight  nor 
by  electric  light  as  they  proceeded  to  do  ;  but  by  the 
dim  light  of  the  candle  they  could  whisper  from  their 
hearts.  All  this  time  Dorinda  purred  loudly  in  the 
short  pauses,  and  often  the  hands  met  in  stroking  her. 

' '  We'  ve  all  been  too  reserved  ;  I  have  been  freezing 
with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lister  near  the  last. 

"And  we  are  going  to  separate  just  as  we  find  our- 
selves warm  again,"  said  the  husband. 
<  "  Say  we  don't,"  said  Henry.  "  I  don't  care  a  cent 
about  old  California.  Only  I  thought  father  didn't 
wish — oh,  I  say,  father,  let's — you  and  I — go  down 
to  the  beach.  You  can  run  up  and  down  every  day — 
Marblehead,  or  Beverly,  or  somewhere  or  'nother. 
Then  we'll  be  together  with  Dorinda.  And  mother 
needn'  t  stay  away  all  the  fall. ' ' 

"  I  wish  I  need  not  go,"  said  Mrs.  Lister.  "  I  don't 
want  to  now.  I  wish  the  company  would  take  back  my 
ticket." 

*'  Elvira,  would  you  stay?  What  do  I  care  about  a 
hundred  dollars  or  so  ?     Pooh  !     Let  it  go  if  the  com- 


I 


'';'!r>--. 


?r. 


':f: 


4    (■ 


i( 


DORINDA 


131 


pany  won't  take  the  ticket.  Why,  Henry's  going  to 
stay  too  !  We'll  take  a  place  at  Nahant.  Well,  if  we 
don't  have  the  jolliest  old  summer  !  " 

* '  Oh,  you  blessed  Dorinda  ! ' '  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lister, 
pressing  the  cat  to  her  heart. 

**Itwas  the  cat,"  cried  Henry,  sing-song ;  "it  was 
the  cat,  the  blessed,  blessed  cat.  * ' 


:  a 


n-      V 


OVER  THE  FALLS 


> 


To  cross  the  Niagara  River,  opposite  the  Canadian 
village  of  Chippewa,  in  a  skiff  for  the  first  time, 
is  an  experience  one  does  not  lightly  forget. 

The  falls,  two  miles  down  stream,  seem  much  nearer. 
The  great  width  of  the  river  tends  to  shrink  their  ap- 
parent distance  ;  the  persistent  roar  of  the  cataract, 
forcing  one's  voice  to  strong  effort  in  speaking,  appears 
to  originate  very  close  by. 

Having  arrived  at  Chippewa  one  June  evening,  by 
mistake  twenty-four  hours  sooner  than  my  business  re- 
quired, I  determined  to  treat  myself  to  a  day's  trolling, 
and  with  this  object,  engaged  the  help  of  Charley 
Pelton,  a  fine,  clear-eyed,  handsome,  powerful  man  of 
about  thirty,  who  was  recommended  to  me  as  the  best 
boatman  in  the  place. 

Bright  and  early  next  morning  we  shot  away  from  his 

boat-house  under    the   Chippewa  bridge,    down    the 

dirty,  sluggish  Chippewa  Creek  perhaps  a  third  of  a 

mile,  to  the  junction  of  its  dull  gray  water  with  the  clear 

green  Niagara  tide.     Here  were  two  channels  leading 

to  the  main  river  around  an  island  that  Pelton  called 

"The  Hog's-back." 
132 


OVER   THE   FALLS 


133 


. 


•vt 


The  lower  channel  was,  he  said,  the  natural  mouth  of 
the  creek;  the  upper  channel,  or  **gap,"  had  been 
cut  to  accomodace  tugs  and  barges  which  had  once  plied 
regularly,  between  Buffalo  and  the  tumble-down  Cana- 
dian hamlet.  As  we  went  out  of  the  gap,  I  noticed  the 
strong  pull  of  the  current,  which  broke  in  "  riffles" 
along  the  outer  edge  of  the  **  Hog's-back." 

* '  It  must  have  been  pretty  hard  for  a  tug  to  take  a 
long  tow  in  here,"  I  remarked. 

*  *  You  may  well  say  that, ' '  he  answered.  *  *  This 
was  an  exciting  point.     I've  seen " 

I  thought  he  was  going  to  tell  a  story,  but  here  the 
work  occupied  all  his  breath  and  attention.  He  took 
me  from  current  to  eddy,  and  from  eddy  to  current, 
up  the  Canadian  shore  a  mile  or  more,  and  then  shot 
by  a  neat  diagonal  easily  across  to  Navy  Island. 
■  During  the  morning,  Pelton  showed  me  very  fair 
sport,  and  after  luncheon  on  Navy  Island,  we  were  in 
excellent  humor  for  a  confidential  talk.  So  we  fell  into 
a  long  chat  about  the  dangers  of  the  river,  which  he 
concluded  with  this  story  :  .       1  • 


■f 


\. 


Yes,  I've  got  some  cause  to  tremble  when  I  look  at 
that  cloud  of  spray  and  listen  to  that  roar,  for  I  was 
through  them  rapids  once  !  No,  not  over  the  Falls,  of 
course  !  It's  not  likely  I'd  'a'  been  here  to  tell,  if  I'd 
gone  over.  But  I  was  '  most  over,  and  I  saw  him  that  I 
lov5d  best  in  the  world  swept  away  to  destruction.     But 


134 


OVER   THE    FALI^ 


',(•' 


I'd  better  begin  at  the  beginning.  I  ain't  used  to 
telling  the  story  ;  I  don' t  know  as  I  ever  did  tell  it 
right  through  either,  because  I  never  talked  about  it 
to  a  stranger  afore. 

They  told  you,  I  was  the  best  boatman  round  here, 
did  they  ?  Well,  if  you  had  asked  them  six  years  ago, 
they'd  have  told  you  my  brother  Frank  was.  And 
they'd  have  told  you  the  truth.  He  was  six  years 
younger  than  me,  and  I  was  only  twenty-five  then,  but 
he  was  far  the  best  man. 

My  !  I  was  fond  of  that  boy — and  proud  !  You 
see  I  had  give  him  his  lessons  in  'most  every  kind  of 
manliness  that  he  could  do.  I  mind  taking  him  in 
swimming  when  he  wasn'  t  more  than  a  toddling  baby, 
and  me  not  much  bigger,  seems  now.  Rowing — I 
can't  mind  when  my  hands  weren't  used  to  oars,  but 
I  mind  well  enough  teaching  him  when  he  wasn't  more 
than  four  years  old.  What  a  brave  baby  he  was,  never 
hanging  back,  but  always  trying  to  do  just  what  he  was 
showed  !  How  quick  he  got  to  be  handy  all  round  ! 
And  what  a  kind  chap  !  Say,  I  could  go  right  on  all 
day  talking  about  that  little  boy. 

One  day,  toward  evening,  me  and  Frank  was  stand- 
ing on  the  bridge  of  the  creek,  fly-fishing  for  silver 
bass,  when  up  come  the  whistle  of  a  tug  from  the  river. 

**  That's  the  *  Mixer,*  "  says  Frank,  looking  pleased. 
"She's  got  back  soon.     Mother' 11  be  glad." 

You  see,  mother  and  Sally  and  Jane  Rolston  had 


,  / 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


135 


went  up  to  Buffalo  a  couple  of  days  before,  and  they  was 
to  come  back  with  one  of  the  "  Mixer's"  barges,  the 
"  Mary  Starbuck,"  of  Chippewa.  Old  man  Rolston  was 
the  skipper  of  that  scow,  and  his  daughter  Kitty  done 
the  cooking  for  him  and  his  two  hands.  He'd  agreed 
to  give  up  his  whole  cabin  to  mother  and  the  girls  on 
the  way  down,  if  they  liked,  and  him  and  the  men 
would  go  aboard  one  of  the  other  barges. 

**It's  the  'Mixer,'  sure  enough,"  says  I,  **just 
coming  into  the  gap.  But  what  on  earth  is  she  whistling 
so  loNgiox}''       ' 

"There  must  be  something  wrong  !  "  says  Frank. 

Without  another  word,  we  dropped  our  poles,  ran 
down  under  the  bridge  to  where  the  boats  was,  and 
jumped  into  a  skiff  just  about  the  size  of  that  there. 
We  pulled  for  the  gap,  and  pretty  soon  we  could  see 
the  "Mixer"  coming  in,  seemingly  all  right,  but  still 
whistling.  We  couldn't  see  what  there  was  behind  her, 
as  she  hid  the  scows  some,  and  the  front  scows  hid 
them  behind. 

As  we  came  racing  along,  old  Capt.  Dolby  dropped 
his  pull  on  the  whistle  and  run  out  to  the  "  Mixer's" 
bow. 

"Quick  ! "  he  called.  "Go  down  the  old  channel 
and  save  'em  !  " 

'Who?"  I  cried  back.  -       . 

"The  *  Mary  Starbuck' s'  broke  loose  ! "  he  roared. 

' '  Is  mother  on  board  ?  "  we  asked. 


■    -     V 


136 


OVER   THE   FALLS 


**  Yes.     Oh,  boys,  hurry  up  !  " 

Maybe  you  can  understand  how  that  boat  began 
to  travel.  We  knowed  mother  and  Sally  was  drifting 
down  outside  the  '*  Hog's-back,"  straight  for  Niagara 
Falls!  ' 

There  was  a  bunch  of  people  standing  together  on 
the  "Starbuck."  When  they  saw  us,  they  separated 
a  little  and  threw  up  their  hands  beckoning.  Then  I 
saw  they  was  four  women.  I  had  clean  forgot  all  but 
mother  and  Sally  ! 

Frank  turned  his  head  too,  and  gave  a  great  gasp 
as  he  took  in  the  situation.  We  could  not  possibly 
take  more  than  three  of  them  on  the  skiff!  There 
would  be  big  risk  in  taking  more  than  two  by  the  time 
we  could  reach  her.  To  get  ashore  would  need  all  our 
strength  and  wind.  We  stopped  rowing  a  stroke, 
thinking  of  going  back  for  a  bigger  boat.  But  what 
was  the  use?  Before  we  could  work  back  to  the 
bridge,  the  **Starbuck"  would  be  over  the  falls. 
Some  one  had  ought  to  be  saved ;  so  we  put  in  big 
strokes  again. 

Before  we  reached  the  *  *  Mary  Starbuck, ' '  she  had 
got  into  very  swift  water ;  it  was  smooth,  though,  for 
some  distance  lower.  The  women  were  all  quiet,  except 
Kitty  Rolston  ;  she  was  crying  and  laughing  and  shriek- 
ing by  turns — hystericky. 

'*  I  knew  you'd  come,  boys,"  said  mother,  trembling, 
but  looking  brave  enough.     She  was  a  pretty  heavy 


I  ■-.■ 


I 


\ 


\ 


i 


\ " 


K 


i 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


137 


woman.  Frank  helped  her  down  into  the  stern  of  the 
skiff.  Now  the  **Starb<ick"  had  swung  round,  and 
we  were  on  her  down-stream  side. 

"Quick,  Sally!"  said  I. 

But  Kitty  Rolston  pushed  Sally  back.  Jane  made  no 
move.  She  was  kneeling  down  and  praying.  I  guess 
she  saw  at  the  start  that  they  couldn't  all  be  saved. 
How  well  I  mind  her  white  face — something  like  an 
angel' s  it  was  then — and  her  voice  so  sweet  and  steady  ! 

**  O  Lord,  deliver  them  ! "  she  was  saying  over  and 
over  again. 

I  held  Kitty  back.      "Quick,  Sally!"  I  said  again. 

"Why  not  let  Kitty  in  first?"  said  Sally,  hanging 
back. 

"We  can't  take  more  than  two,"  I  told  her. 

"Yes,  we  can,"  says  Frank  ;  "we  can  take  three. 
Jane!" 

"Take  Kitty,"  said  Jane.  "I  will  stay  till  you 
come  back." 

"  We  can' t  come  back, "  said  Frank. 

"Take  Kitty,"  said  Jane  again.      ;  ; 

There  wasn't  any  time  to  argue.  All  this  passed 
in  half  a  minute.  Kitty  got  into  the  skiff ;  then  Sally. 
The  gunwale  was  down  within  three  inches  of  the  water 
then.     I  didn'  t  think  any  of  us  would  get  ashore. 

"  Leave  go  !  "  I  shouted  to  Frank.  Such  an  agony 
as  there  was  in  that  boy' s  face  !  He  held  out  his  arms 
to  Jane.     She  came  forward  swiftly  and  kissed  him. 


138 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


**The  good  T.ord  have  thee  in  his  holy  keeping," 
she  said.     I'hen  he  gave  an  awful  groan  and  I  shoved 

I  tell  you,  it  was  a  terrible  thing  to  leave  that  girl ! 
Seemed  as  if  we  had  ought  all  to  stay.  Seemed,  some- 
how, as  if  we  were  forsaking  her  cowardly.  But  we 
had  sense  enough  to  know  it  was  right.  She  dropped 
down  on  her  knees  again  and  crossed  her  arms  over 
her  breast  and  bowed  her  head. 

I  looked  at  mother.  She  was  clutching  the  gun- 
wale and  looking  dreadfully  white  and  scared  now. 
Sally  held  her  arm  round  Kitty  Rolston. 

Down  where  we  were  then  the  rapids  seemed  to 
crash  and  yell  and  hold  up  white  arms  for  us.  There 
was  a  long,  smooth  fall  and  rise  like  a  very  easy  billow 
getting  into  the  water  as  we  made  for  shore.  It  was  a 
terror  how  close  the  big  breakers  seemed. 

Frank  pulled  the  mightiest  stroke  then  that  ever  a 
man  pulled.  Every  time  he  came  back  his  oars  bent 
like  a  bow,  but  we  had  made  them  ourselves  and  could 
trust  them.  I  guess  his  eyes  were  never  taken  off  Jane 
kneeling  there  on  the  * '  Mary  Starbuck. "  •  * 

I  looked  at  her  pretty  often  too,  when  I  wasn't 
looking  at  the  white  face  of  mother.  Mother  was  pray- 
ing too.  "O  Lord  God,  save  and  deliver  them!" 
She  had  taken  the  words  of  Jane's  prayer,  and  didn't 
seem,  no  more  than  Jane,  to  be  thinking  about  her 
own  danger. 


/  '■'^ 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


139 


In  a  little  while  I  seemed  to  hear  a  yell  and  looked 
up  the  river.  There  was  a  skiff  with  the  Piniger  boys 
in  it — good  men  they  were  too,  but  they  were  row- 
ing ashore.  . 

"Go  out  and  save  her,  you  cowards!"  screamed 
Frank;  but  they  didn't  dare  to. 

When  we  touched  the  shore  there  were  twenty  or 
thirty  people  standing  on  the  high  bank.  They  gave 
a  tremendous  cheer  and  hurried  to  help  out  mother  and 
the  girls.  Kitty  Rolston  fainted  dead  away,  and  mother 
couldn't  stand.  I  was  all  of  a  tremble  myself,  now 
that  the  danger  was  over.      But  it  wasn't  over. 

I  was  just  stepping  ashore  when  Frank  said,  "  Hurry 
up  !  shove  her  out  !  " 

'  *  What  do  you  mean  !  "  I  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  save  Jane,"  says  he  wildly. 

* '  Save  Jane  ! ' '  says  I.  "  Look  where  the  *  Starbuck ' 
is!" 

She  was  over  the  second  big  pitch,  more  than 
quarter  of  a  mile  out.  There  wasn't  the  ghost  of  a 
hope  to  save  Jane.  But  the  boy  was  crazy,  I  suppose, 
with  sorrow  for  her. 

"I  can  reach  her,"  he  cried,  "and  run  ashore  on 
some  of  the  islands. " 

"You're  crazy  !"  said  I,  stepping  out,  never  think- 
ing he  would  really  try  it.  He  shoved  off.  I  jumped 
in  after  him — somehow  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  the  boy 
go  alone. 


140 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


•  k 


Looking  away  over  the  trampling  breakers,  1  could 
now  and  again  see  the  "Mary  Starbuck"  tossed  and 
tumbled  and  flung.  Sometimes  she  would  seem  to 
leave  the  water  entirely,  and  then  again  she  would  sink 
out  of  sight.  How  she  lived  so  long  I  cannot  tell. 
Always  Jane  knelt,  I  could  see  that.  I  wonder  she 
could  keep  her  senses  in  the  midst  of  the  shrieking  and 
roaring  of  them  cataracts. 

We  were  now  right  above  Cooper's  Island,  not  two 
hundred  yards  distant.  There  was  a  third  and  a 
mightier  plunge  just  before  us.  Down  we  went,  down, 
down,  till  I  thought  we  would  never  stop  falling ;  then 
we  struck,  and  the  boat  was  smashed  up  right  there. 

The  next  instant  I  was  fighting  to  keep  my  head 
free  from  white,  foamy  crests.  I  got  a  glimpse  of  Frank 
a  few  feet  away.  Even  in  that  wild  rush  he  seemed 
to  be  striking  out  for  the  **  Mary  Starbuck."  But  the 
torrent  tossed  him  along  like  a  chip. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  we  were  at  the 
divide  of  the  current  close  to  the  end  of  Cooper's 
Island.  By  some  extraordinary  luck  we  both  struck 
straight  through  where  it  forked,  and  found  ourselves 
in  shallow  water.     I  waded  ashore  and  was  saved. 

But  Frank  !  Of  course  he  was  crazy  !  He  ran 
along  the  outer  shore  of  the  island,  stumbling  over 
rocks  and  fallen  tree-trunks,  all  the  time  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  "Mary  Starbuck,"  which  was  now 
plunging   up  and  down,   a  couple  of  hundred   yards 


OVER   THE    FALLS 


141 


below  him.      All   the  time  he   kept  calling,    "Jane! 
Jane!" 

I  followed  as  I  could. 

Of  course  Jane  could  not  have  heard  him  above 
the  terrible  turmoil  of  the  river,  but  in  a  little  while  she 
looked  up,  saw  him,  and  started  to  her  feet.  He  had 
at  that  moment  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  island. 
Suddenly  she  stretched  out  her  arms  toward  him. 

He  looked  once  at  the  roarers  before  him  and  again 
at  her  reaching  arms.  Then  without  further  hesitation, 
he  leaped  away  out  into  the  current  and  struck  out 
toward  the  tremendous  waves  between  him  and  the 
girl.  Jane  at  that  instant  threw  up  her  arms  with  such 
a  motion  as  I  never  saw,  and  fell  down  like  dead  on 
the  deck.  Next  moment  a  wilder  wave  rolled  tumbling, 
up  over  the  craft,  and  she  fell  to  pieces  like  a  thing  of 
shingles.  I  looked  then  for  Frank.  He  had  disap- 
peared. 

I  never  saw  him  again,  nor  a  trace  of  either  of  them. 
Their  bodies  could  never  be  found,  though  we  had  the 
river  watched  below  the  falls  for  many  a  day. 


/' 


A  HEROINE  OF  NORMAN'S  WOE 


ONE  windy  afternoon  of  August,  two  years  ago,  an 
observant  passenger  on  the  steamer  from  Boston 
to  Gloucester,  who  was  scanning  Briar  Island  with  a 
field-glass,  became  interested  in  two  young  men  ashore. 
One  carried  the  other  on  his  back.  No  other  figures 
could  be  seen  on  Briar  Island.  A  small  tent  was 
pitched  on  the  island's  summit. 

The  head  of  the  carried  youth  hung  on  his  own  right 
shoulder  ;  from  his  legs'  limpness  he  seemed  dead,  or 
paralyzed.  His  arms  were  grasped  in  front  of  the 
burden-bearer's  chest.  The  backs  of  both  were  toward 
the  steamer. 

That  the  carried  youth  had  fallen  from  some  pinnacle 
of  the  little  island's  rough  eastern  shore  was  the  first  sur- 
mise of  ray  informant,  the  observant  passenger.  He  did 
not  readily  suspect  that  the  conqueror  in  a  fight  was  car- 
rying his  victim's  body  up-hill  in  the  broad  light  of  day. 

Clearly  the  burden-bearer  was  strong,  for  he  ascended 
the  declivity  with  steady  strides,  bore  his  load  into  the 
tent,  and  was  lost  to  sight.  It  then  struck  my  inform- 
ant as  strange   that   the   young  man  did  not   hasten 

out  to  signal  the  steamer  for  aid. 
142 


■\, 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN  S    WOE 


143 


i 


My  informant  is  a  typical  Boston  man,  deliberate, 
reticent,  averse  to  committing  himself,  disliking  "  fuss," 
unwilling  to  appear  conspicuous.  He  thought  of  ask- 
ing the  captain  to  send  a  boat  ashore  ;  but  he  seldom 
-  speaks  to  any  one  without  an  introduction.  Yet  he 
began  to  fear  that  he  might  become  exdted  enough  to 
do  so  when  he  saw  the  strong  youth  come  out  of  the 
tent,  gaze  straight  at  the  steamer,  and  still  wave  no 
handkerchief  nor  make  any  such  appeal. 

My  friend  was  sure  he  would,  in  such  a  case,  commit 
himself  so  far  as  to  hail  the  nearest  craft.  But  what  if 
that  craft  were  a  mile  distant  and  rapidly  moving  away  ? 
,,  My  informant  began  to  wonder  if  a  crime  had  been 
committed  on  that  rock,  and  the  more  he  watched  it 
fade  away,  the  more  he  feared  this  was  the  one  reason- 
able explanation.  The  youth,  momentarily  growing 
dimmer  to  my  friend's  view,  went  back  to  the  tent's 
opening,  peered  in,  stood  half  a  minute  as  if  held  by 
what  he  saw,  turned,  straightened  up,  and  looked 
around  over  Massachusetts  Bay. 

Whitecaps  lifted  in  all  directions  except  under  the 
island's  lee.  The  wind  was  rising.  The  steamer  rolled 
considerably  in  running  across  seas.  Nearly  all  small 
sail  in  sight  were  making  for  the  nearest  ports.  Large 
craft  stood  far  out,  with  little  canvas.  Some  dories  of 
fishermen  were  tossing  wildly  at  anchor,  but  more  were 
seeking  shelter. 

The  observant  passenger  saw  the  youth  stoop  sud- 


144 


A   HEROINE  OF   NORMAN  S   WOE 


denly,  pick  something  up  and  run,  apparently  with  an 
oar  in  hand,  down  the  steep  of  the  island's  lee.  There 
he  disappeared. 

Two  minutes  later  some  tiny  yellow  craft  shot  forth 
from  that  lee  shore  toward  the  open  bay.  The  little 
vessel  was  scarcely  visible  from  the  receding  steamer.  It 
pointed  almost  straight  against  the  wind.  My  informant 
recognized  it  as  a  canoe,  for  he  could  see  the  gleam  of 
the  double  paddle.  Who,  except  one  afraid  of  his  fellow- 
men  ashore,  would,  thought  my  informant,  face  such 
weather  in  a  canoe,  as  if  to  get  out  to  sea  beyond  Cape 
Ann,  where  he  might  chance  to  be  picked  up  by  some 
outgoing  vessel,  beyond  reach  by  telegram  or  detect- 
ives? 

The  Boston  passenger  then  confided  his  suspicions  to 
the  Boston  captain,  who  looked  impassive  and  said 
nothing.  Feeling  that  he  had  ''slopped  over"  in 
vain,  the  Boston  passenger  went  below  to  a  secluded 
nook,  avoiding  the  eye  of  man.  But  when  he  reached 
Gloucester  he  reported  all,  conscientiously,  to  the  chief 
of  police,  who  said,  **  He  guessed  he'd  see  'bout  it  if  it 
wasn't  all  right." 

The  wind  rose  to  a  gale  that  afternoon.  Next  morn- 
ing, when  my  informant  returned  by  the  same  steamer, 
the  sea  was  like  a  mill-pond,  except  for  the  porpoises 
trying  to  stand  on  their  heads.  On  Briar  Island  the 
tent  siill  stood.  My  informant  was  convinced  that  a 
murdered  body  lay  within  it,  and  now  disclosed  himself 


A  HEROINE  OF  NORMAN  S  WOE 


145 


to  the  captain  as  a  stockholder  in  the  line.  So  a  boat 
was  sent  ashore  with  the  captain  and  his  passenger. 

In  the  tent  they  found  some  cooking  utensils,  a  gun- 
case  lettered  **G.  B.,"  a  jointed  fishing-rod,  some 
tackle,  an  air  mattress,  and  two  blankets  soaked  with 
blood. 

My  informant  was  beginning  to  lake  full  notes  when 
the  captain  insisted  on  hurrying  away.  It  was  none  of 
his  business,  anyhow,  he  said.  He  couldn't  lose  time 
to  mix  himself  up  with  any  case  in  court.  So  the  ob- 
servant passenger  was  compelled  to  hasten  aboard,  con- 
soling himself  that  his  sagacity  had  been  vindicated. 

The  adventure  gave  him  a  keen,  unusual  sense  of 

[  (^ing  alive.     What  he  did  on  reaching  Boston  need  not 

,    i'jcorded,  because  the  meaning  of  what  he  had  seen 

may  be  best  learned  from  the  narrative  of  Skipper  Min- 

cheever,  of  Beverly. 

Almost  any  day  in  summer  you  may  see  the  white 
catboat,  ''Minnie  Mincheever,"  at  anchor  before 
Beverly,  unless  her  skipper,  Absalom  Mincheever,  has 
gone  forth  on  some  cruise.  In  summer  he  hires,  boat 
and  skipper,  to  chance  comers.  During  fall  and  spring 
he  uses  the  **  Minnie" — named  for  his  young  sister — 
as  a  fishing-boat.  The  fishing  in  stormy  months  keeps 
Absalom  in  practice  for  sudden  perils  of  that  terrible 
coast,  and  maintains  in  him  that  nerve  which  is  as  re- 
markable  as  his  volubility. 

Of  his  adventures  he  loves  to  talk,  though  many  are 

K 


146 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN's  WOE 


scarcely  important  enough  to  warrant  the  detail  in  which 
he  imparts  them.  But  small  or  great,  he  tumbles  them 
out  almost  incessantly,  as  some  landmark  brings  them  to 
his  memory.  Thus,  on  my  first  trip  with  him  last  sum- 
mer, he  poured  forth  this  tale  of  Norman's  Woe  : 

**Now  there's  Norman's  Woe,"  he  began,  waving 
his  free  hand  toward  a  brown  mound  of  rock  that 
seemed  part  of  the  North  Shore  near  the  entrance  to 
Gloucester  Bay.  * '  Once  I  had  a  tight  pinch  right 
there.     The  wind  was  a  living  gale,  and " 

**  Norman's  Woe?  "  I  interrupted. 

"Yes,  certainly.  As  I  was  saying,  there  was  more 
than  half  a  gale ' ' 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  there's  a  real  Norman's  Woe, 
the  very  Norman's  Woe  where  Longfellow's  schooner 
*  Hesperus '  was  wrecked  ?  " 

"Looks  real  enough,  don't  it?  But  none  of  the 
Longfeilows  'long  this  coast  lost  no  schooner,  so  fur's  I 
know.  Abe's  no  sailor,  nor  yet  Hiram,  and  Pete,  him 
that  lives  back  of  Mingo's  beach — ^why,  Pete " 

"  And  that  is  really  Norman's  Woe  !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"Well,  of  the  millions  who  have  learned  the  ballad  at 
school,  how  few  imagine  it  refers  to  a  real  reef !  It's 
peaceful  enough  to-day.  I  say,  skipper,  won' t  you  run 
in  and  give  me  a  good  look  at  it  ?  " 

"Certainly!  Certainly  1 "  said  Absalom,  and  put 
the  "  Minnie  "  about  almost  as  easily  as  a  bird  turns. 

Close  past  a  buoy  bearing  a  fogbell  we  ran  in.     Now 


A    HEROINE  OF    NORMAN's   WOE 


H7 


it  was  silent.  And  this  was  the  bell  that  knelled  in  the 
ears  of  the  * '  Hesperus'  ' '  skipper  as  he  looked  on  his 
little  daughter  bound  to  the  mast  and  steered  for  the 
open  sea  ! 

Absalom's  eyes  fell  on  the  fog-bell.  He  shouted, 
shaking  his  fist  at  it,  and  kept  on  talking  till  he  had 
ended  his  tale  : — 


How  that  bell  did  clank  !     You  hain'  t  got  no  idea  of 
what  that  coast  is  with  a  gale  from  sea.     The  Woe  was 
all  a  smother  of  breakers  clear  up,  for  the  tide  was  high. 
The  rollers  looked  like  they'd  roar  over  into  the  cove 
behind. 

Well,  sir,  my  sister  and  me — it's  her  I  named  this 
boat  for — had  been  out  north  yonder  fishing,  for  she 
was  on  her  holidays,  and  me  engaged  with  no  party  for 
the  day,  and  she'd  been  teachin'  schoolall  spring  and 
winter.  As  the  wind  kept  rising,  we  ran  for  Gloucester 
Bay.  It  was  in  August,  just  about  this  time  too  ;  but 
the  blow  was  fit  for  October,  only  warmer.  And  as  we 
staggered  round  the  point  yonder,  what  should  we  see 
but  a  canoe. 

A  dory  could  scarce  live  in  such  a  sea,  but  there 
was  that  young  chap  in  about  here.  He  was  rising  free, 
paddling  straight  into  the  face  of  the  waves,  flung  up 
till  you  could  see  half  his  keel — then  he'd  slide  out  of 
sight  down  the  trough  so  you'd  think  he'd  never  come 
up  again. 


^-^  / 


148 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN  S   WOE 


, 


**An  open  canoe?"  says  you?  Great  skeesicks  ! 
do  you  s' pose  any  open  canoe  could  'a'  lived  there? 
No  ;  she  was  divided  into  bulkheads  and  decked  tight 
— so  I  learned  after  all  was  done.  No  sinking  her,  and 
he  was  too  smart  to  let  her  be  rolled  over.  The  danger 
was  that  she'd  be  blown  ashore  and  smashed  to  kindling, 
and  the  life  pounded  out  of  him  on  Norman's  Woe.  It 
turned  out  he'd  come  in  a  rising  sea  clear  away  from 
Briar  Island,  and  now  his  strength  was  peterin'  out  just 
in  front  of  the  Woe. 

All  his  work  was  to  keep  off  the  rock  till  he'd 
get  a  chance  to  run  foi:  yon  gravelly  beach,  in  nearer 
Gloucester.  But  'twas  no  go;  the  reef  was  bound  to 
have  him  ;  the  gale  was  more  against  him  every  minute, 
and  so  the  tide  was  too. 

When  I  catched  sight  of  that  canoe  I  wasn't  noways 
pleased.  There  was  Round  Rock  Shoal  and  Dog  Bar 
for  the  *  *  Minnie  Mincheever '  *  to  get  past  to  anchor 
safely. 

I  was  wet  and  hungry  and  mad,  and  my  sister  was 
crosser'n  me.  for  she'd  wanted  me  to  start  in  an  hour 
earlier.  Scared  ?  Geewhitaker  1  No !  She  can  sail 
a  boat  with  any  man  on  this  coast. 

What  made  her  'n  me  mad  was  to  see  the  Woe 
would  get  that  canoe  in  ten  minutes  if  we  didn't. 
There  wasn't  another  rag  of  sail  out  but  our'n.  I 
couldn't  think  what  had  possessed  the  man  to  be  canoe- 
ing in  such  weather.     He'd  'a'  drifted  ashore  in  two 


A  HEROINE  OF  NORMAN  S  WOE 


149 


minutes  if  he  gave  the  wind  his  broadside  and  tried  to 
run  past  the  Woe.  All  he  could  do  was  paddle  straight 
at  the  wind  ;  and  yet  he  wasn't  half  holding  his  own. 

No  arms  could  'a'  made  head  against  that  gale  and 
tide  and  sea  together ;  he  was  just  working  for  a  few 
minutes  more  of  life  at  best. 

Well,  sir,  "va"  '  ping  to  risk  my  boat  trying  to  pick 
up  a  crazy  >-ang  .p?  It  would  bt  a  desperate  risk. 
'I'here  might  be  room  for  us  where  he  was,  and  then 
there  mightn't.  I  was  treble-reefed — not  sail  enough 
to  get  round  half-lively.  I  couldn't  seem  to  feel  we'd 
any  clear  call  in  there  ;  but  it  hurt  my  feelings  terrible 
to  let  him  be  lost  right  under  my  eyes. 

I  was  holding  right  on  for  Gloucester  when  my 
sister  catched  sight  of  the  canoe — she'd  been  watching 
out  the  other  side.  Nothing  would  do  her  but  we 
should  try  the  rescue.  Her  eyes  was  blazing ;  all  is, 
we  were  about  in  two  shakes,  and  running  about  sou' west 
to  get  sea  room  before  we'd  come  about  and  make 
straight  for  that  canoe. 

Our  plan  was  to  run  to  the  stranger,  we  flying 
right  along  the  length  of  Norman's  Woe.  Before  we 
was  too  near  we'd  know  if  there  was  a  chance  of  going 
close  enough  to  take  him  off  and  yet  saving  ourselves. 
But  when  we  went  about  out  yonder  I  saw  plain  that 
we'd  be  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  rock  before  we 

could  reach  him.  '" 

If  we  could  snatch  him  off  in  passing  we  might  get 


ISO 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN  S   WOE 


clear,  but  to  come  into  the  wind  then,  or  slacken  at  all, 
looked  like  sure  death  ;  we'd  be  pounding  on  the  Woe 
before  we  could  get  a  new  move  on.  And  it  looked 
two  chances  to  one  we'd  be  blown  on  the  east  end  of 
the  reef  if  we  even  went  near  him. 

*  *  We  can' t  do  it, ' '  says  I. 

< '  We  got  to  !  "  says  Minnie,  stamping  her  foot ;  and 
was  I  to  be  scairt  out  where  a  gal  didn'  t  blench  ? 

**Say  your  prayers,  sis,"  says  I  j  and  in  we  went, 
flying  half-across  the  trough. 

I  could  trust  the  boat  agin  capsizin' ,  but  her  bows 
would  fly  wide  when  she  rose,  if  a  hand  quick  as  mine 
wasn't  at  the  wheel.  One  of  us  must  stand  by  to  throw 
the  man  a  rope.  My  sister  could  steer  as  well  as  me  ; 
so  I  gave  her  the  wheel  and  got  a  rope  ready.  I  guess 
the  clank  of  that  bell  was  soundin'  like  doom  to  that 
young  feller,  but  he  kept  paddling,  steady  and  cool. 
His  face  was  set  as  a  stone,  and  every  wave  flung  crests 
onto  it.  -.         .  ;.    :  v  ^ 

When  we  were  within  fifty  yards  of  him  I  saw  there 
was  mighty  little  use  throwing  the  rope.  Most  likely  he'  d 
miss  it.  If  he  dropped  his  paddle  to  grab  it  the  wind 
would  throw  his  bow  right  round  and  maybe  roll  him 
over.  If  he  did  catch  on,  we'd  jerk  him  overboard 
and  lose  time  trying  to  fetch  him  in,  and  be  poundin' 
on  the  reef  ourselves. 

There  was  just  one  chance  to  get  him  aboard,  but 
to  take  it  was  desperate.     It  was  to  go  half  round  on 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN  S    WOE 


J5I 


the  wind,  run  close  alongside  him,  give  him  a  chance  to 
jump  for  our  rail,  keep  our  speed  right  along,  wheel 
sharp  and  get  back  on  our  course  along  shore.  But 
there  was  the  Woe  so  close  that  I  could  hear  clearly  a 
sort  of  rumbling  like  boulders  grinding  in  the  waves — 
and  was  we  to  point  for  that  death  ? 

No,  sir,  I  didn't  dare  ;  and  i  my  sister  flinched 
too.  She  kept  the  course,  J  and  we  was  going 
to  fly  past  his  bow.     It  was  v-^^,      shooting    out    so 


high  it  looked  most  as  if  it  would  be  aboard  us  if  we 
were  in  the  trough  when  it  next  came  down.  Well, 
sir,  we  wasn't  three  lengths  of  this  boat  from  that  chap 
when  he  opened  out  with  a  roar  like  a  fog-horn  : 

"You — can't — do — it  !  Thank — you — for— trying. 
Tell  — a — doctor — to — go — instantly — to  —  Briar  —  Is- 
land. There' s — a — man — there — with — broken — legs. 
I — was — agoing — for  a  doctor. ' ' 

Do  you  see  that?      (Here  Absalom,  swung  his  free 


152 


A    HEROINE   OF    NORMAN  S   WOE 


arm,  with  a  curved  elbow,  out  from  his  side  and 
iiround  to  his  front  horizontally.)  Before  the  words 
were  out  of  his  lips,  that's  what  this  boat  did.  I  thought 
my  sister' d  gone  clean  crazy.  She  went  round  on  the 
wind  ;  it  was  like  making  a  scoop  at  the  canoe.  The 
"  Minnie"  jerked  straight  up  on  an  even  keel  for  two 
seconds.  I  thought  she  was  going  to  jibe  ;  but  in  them 
two  seconds  our  quarter  had  knocked  up  against  the 
canoe,  and  the  young  chap  reached  for  our  rail. 

I  didn't  even  look  to  see  what  became  of  him. 
My  eyes  were  on  Norman's  Woe.  We  seemed  right  on 
it,  sure.  Lord  !  the  trampling  of  them  breakers  !  I 
jumped  to  my  sister's  side.  We  jammed  the  wheel 
down  together.  Thank  God  it  was  a  cat-boat  under  us  ! 
Back  we  were  on  our  course  again  almost  before  the 
young  chap  could  pick  himself  up  from  before  our  feet. 

Don't  tell  me  there  ain't  no  miracles  these  days  ! 
Saving  him  was  one  ;  getting  clear  of  the  Woe  ourselves 
was  the  other.  Some  might  say  the  wind  slanted  a  bit 
favorable  just  then,  being  sort  of  eddied  round  the  Woe. 
But  that's  the  way  with  miracles.  He  works  so's  you 
can  believe  nature  did  it;  or,  if  your  heart's  simpler, 
you  can  just  believe  it's  Him. 

Anyhow  that  sudden  slant  of  wind  let  us  bear  up 
as  much  as  four  or  five  points  more  east,  and  fetched 
us  barely  clear  of  the  Woe  before  we  had  to  fall  off 
again.  But  then  we  had  plenty  of  room  to  work  up 
into  the  bay. 


r 


V, 


A    HEROINE   OF    NOKMAN  S    WOE 


'53 


k 


\ 


The  young  chap  said  mighty  little  but,  "Thank  you 
for  my  life. ' '  His  name  was  George  Bowles  ;  a  Boston 
boy.  But  women  is  curious  creatures.  My  sister 
burst  out  crying  and  left  the  wheel  to  me,  and  flung 
herself  down  into  the  cabin  and  lay  there  sobbing  like 
her  heart  would  break.  To  think  she  was  so  near  for- 
saking him  !  says  she. 

Well,  sir,  seen  enough  of  Norman's  Woe?  We'll 
go  about  then  to  clear  Eastern  Point. 

What  became  of  the  chap  with  his  legs  broken? 
Why,  we  ran  up  with  a  tug  two  hours  later  and 
fetched  him  to  hospital.  Terrible  bad  break  one  leg 
was — bone  came  through  the  skin — and  the  doctor  said 
he'd  have  bled  to  death  if  it  wasn't  for  the  way  young 
Bowles  had  tied  up  the  leg  before  he  left,  so's  to  stop 
the  circulation. 

Now  you  see  Dog  Bar  yonder.  Well,  once  I  was 
ashore  there. 

Then  skipper  Mincheever  launched  into  new  tales.    . 


V. 


r 


f 


n 


IN  A  CANOE 


IN  the  summer  of  1869,  I  left  Thunder  Bay  with  a 
party  of  engineers  commissioned  by  the  Canadian 
government  to  examine  a  chain  of  lakes  lying  between 
Lake  Superior  and  Lake  Winnipeg. 

Carte  blanche  as  to  equipment  had  been  given  to  our 
chief  engineer,  Mr.  Lydgely,  and  perhaps  no  survey- 
ing outfit  was  ever  much  more  luxurious  than  ours. 
Not  to  mention  tents  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  blankets  in 
great  plenty,  and  the  ordinary  rations  of  pork,  flour, 
and  tea,  we  had  kegs  of  syrup,  barrels  of  sugar,  firkins 
of  butter,  and  no  less  than  one  hundred  and  forty-four 
dozens  of  canned  stuflF,  mainly  salmon,  lobsters,  and 
sardines. 

"For  lunch,"  explained  Lydgely,  when  old  Pell,  the 
weather-beaten  second  in  command,  inquired,  "What's 
this  here  tinware  for?" 

"Lunch!"  roared  Pell.  "Lunch!  Well,  I  am 
done!"  Then,  with  a  fine  affectation  of  sorrow,  he 
went  on,  "By  gracious,  I'm  in  a  fix — didn't  bring  a 
dress-suit  for  dinner  !  And  I've  forgot  my  napkin- 
ring  !  Boys,"  to  us  chain-bearers,  "I  hope  you've  got 
hair  oil  and  blackin'  for  three  months." 
154 


..i. 


•%, 


IN    A    CANOE 


»55 


Notwithstanding  which  sarcasms,  I  never  observed 
that  Pell  shrank  from  the  contents  of  the  "tinware" 
or  from  the  sweets.  "It's  a  man's  duty  to  get  such 
disgraceful  stuff  out  of  the  way,  somehow,"  he  used  to 
say. 

I  have  mentioned  the  extravagance  of  our  equip- 
ment, because  it  indirectly  caused  the  adventure  I  am 
about  to  relate.  The  party  was  an  unusually  large  one, 
consisting  of  four  engineers,  fifteen  rod-men  and  chain- 
bearers,  and  about  fifty  Ojibway  Inaians,  from  the 
Kaministiquia  River.  Our  traveling  was  done  in  i^reat 
"northwest  canoes"  of  bark,  each  froni  forty  \j  fifty 
feet  long,  which  carried  our  enormous  supplies  easily  in 
addition  to  their  crews. 

Large  the  supplies  needed  to  be,  for  the  apoeti  e  of 
our  Ojibways  was  almost  incredible.  Three  pounds  of 
pork  a  day  to  each  man  were  but  as  grease  for  his  con- 
sumption of  flour  and  hard-tack.  They  hankered  after 
the  special  flesh-pots  of  the  whites,  also.  A  favorite 
amusement  of  Lydgely's  was  to  bestow  a  pound  or  so 
of  butter,  a  box  of  sardines,  or  a  pint  pannikin  of  syrup 
on  each  of  the  nearest  Indians,  when  he  entered  the 
commissary's  tent  for  "  refreshmenL /  "  as  he  too  often 
did. 

To  bolt  the  butter  au  naturel^  to  take  down  the  sar- 
dines with  their  oil  at  a  few  .?;ulps,  to  drink  off  the 
syrup  like  water,  diverted  the  Ojibways  not  less  than 
the  performance  did  Lydgely.     Hence  a  considerable 


/^ 


156 


IN    A    CANOE 


group   usually  managed  to  be  near  the  commissary's 
tent  when  the  chief  engineer  thirsted. 

One  consequence  of  his  habits  was  that,  within  a 
month,  the  good  things  provided  for  the  whites  had 
largely  gone  to  comfort  the  reds,  who  had  engaged  to 
live  on  pork,  flour,  tea,  and  what  fish  they  could  catch. 
At  the  same  time  their  gorgings  had  so  reduced  the 
staple  supplies,  that  it  became  necessary  to  put  them 
on  stated  rations  or  send  a  hundred  miles  down  rush- 
ing rivers  to  Fort  William  for  more  food. 

Not  to  delay  operations,  Lydgely  yielded  to  Pell's 
advice,  and  put  the  Indians  on  an  allowance  of  two 
pounds  of  pork,  and  as  much  flour  per  day  to  each 
man.  Pampered  as  they  had  been  this  ration  seemed 
to  them  sadly  meagre,  and,  on  the  second  morning  of 
its  issue,  there  was  trouble  in  camp. 

Hamel,  our  French  Canadian  commissariat  officer, 
gave  out  the  food  at  daylight.  At  half-past  six,  when 
Lydgely  called  ''canoes,"  as  was  usual  at  the  beginning 
of  the  day's  work,  the  Indians  did  not  budge.  The 
chief  engineer  roared  at  them  again,  but  still  they  made 
no  move.  Pell  went  to  discover  the  reason  why  they 
were  disobedient. 

"Nossin  for  eat,"  said  their  spokesman,  called  by 
us  *' Kaministiquia  Jim."  They  had  devoured  the 
whole  ration  for  breakfast,  and  were,  therefore,  doomed 
to  go  without  more  for  twenty-four  hours,  which  were 
to  begin  with  a  hard  day's  paddling. 


IN    A    CANOE 


157 


**  They've  eaten  all  their  grub,"  called  Pell.    -        ' 

*  *  The  beasts  ! ' '  roared  Lydgely,  whose  temper  was 
very  reprehensible,  and  strode  toward  the  Ojibways  in 
a  rage. 

They  bunched  up  together.  * '  Kaministiquia  "  or 
"Big  Jim"  stood  out  before  the  others.  He  was  a 
very  bad  Indian,  **  having  associated  too  much  with 
civilized  people, ' '  Pell  used  to  say. 

"Come  along,"  yelled  Lydgely,  and  reached  out  as 
though  to  grasp  Big  Jim.  There  was  the  flash  of  a 
knife ;  Jim  drew  back  his  hand  with  the  gleaming 
weapon  as  though  to  plunge  it  into  the  chief.  We 
chain-bearers  hurried  forward.  "  But  Lydgely  in  an 
instant  let  out  with  his  left,  and  sent  the  noble  red  man 
sprawling.     That  put  an  end  to  the  discussion. 

The  fifty  Ojibways  stalked  obediently  to  the  boats, 
and  Big  Jim  brought  up  the  rear  with  a  cheek  that 
looked  distinctly  the  worse  for  wear. 

I  was  one  of  Pell's  assistants.  In  the  canoe  which 
he  captained  Big  Jim  always  took  the  bow-steering 
paddle — these  great  crafts  of  bark  are  always  guided  by 
steersmen  in  both  bow  and  stern.  Lydgely  went  with 
us  that  day  to  explore  part  of  an  unknown  river  which 
we  intended  to  traverse,  and  which  flows,  winding,  out 
of  Lake  Kaskabeesis,  its  course  broken  by  great  falls. 
Early  in  the  forenoon  we  entered  the  stream,  and  went 
hurrying  on  a  brown  current  occasionally  broken  by 
short,  chopping  rapids. 


158 


IN    A    CANOE 


Our  dozen  Indians  had  been  sullen  all  the  morning. 

* 'We're  going  to  have  trouble  with  these  chaps," 
said  Pell ;  **  they'll  upset  us,  maybe,  or  play  some  con- 
founded trick ;  you'll  see. " 

Instead  of  exchanging  short,  plaintive-sounding  sen- 
tences and  various  grunts,  as  was  their  custom,  they 
were  absolutely  silent.  We  watched  them  furtively  but 
closely,  fearing  that  their  intentions  might  be  perilous 
to  us.  But  not  an  indication  of  evil  intentions  did  they 
give. 

Big  Jim,  standing  in  the  bow,  piloted  to  a  marvel, 
distinguishing  in  time  many  submerged  boulders  which 
we  could  not  see  till,  flashing  past,  we  made  out  their 
dim  forms  beneath  the  water  that  lapped  shallow  over 
their  dangerous  noses.  With  his  frequent  motions  of 
head,  and  interjections  of  warning  for  the  other  steers- 
man, with  adroit  movements  of  his  paddle  forcing  the 
canoe  to  glance  aside  from  all  dangers,  Big  Jim  seemed 
to  be  concerned  solely  with  his  duty. 

Along  we  flew,  the  little  waves  lapping  on  our  sides, 
the  motion  inspiringly  swift,  a  sunny  blue  September 
sky  overhead,  the  banks,  all  red  with  pembina  berries, 
receding  like  long  ribbons.  No  traveling  is  so  exhilarat- 
ing as  the  running  down  a  very  swift  and  somewhat 
broken  current  in  a  light,  stanch  craft. 

**  We're  not  vtry  far  from  the  falls,"  said  Pell, 
pointing  to  a  white  cloud  that  hung  in  the  blue,  spread- 
ing from  a  slowly  rising,  misty  pillar  off"  to  the  east. 


w 


.    w 


IN    A   CANOE 


159 


: 


At  that  moment  we  were  running  almost  due  north, 
and  to  suppose  that  the  cloud  was  from  a  jump  in  our 
river,  implied  a  sharp  turn  soon. 

The  canoe  had  been  approaching  the  shore  as  though 
the  Indians  meant  to  land  not  far  away,  but  as  Pell 
uttered  the  words.  Big  Jim  turned  around,  threw  up  his 
paddle  and  spoke  to  the  crew.  His  eye  was  fairly  blaz- 
ing, and  his  face,  I  thought,  wore  a  malign  joy  as  if  he 
had  been  suddenly  inspired  with  a  scheme  for  revenge. 
The  Indians  answered  him  with  a  surprised  shout, 
stopped  paddling,  and  looked  into  each  other's  faces 
with  some  alarm.  They  were  curiously  excited,  seem- 
ing at  once  elated,  defiant,  and  yet  somewhat  daunted. 

"  Wagh  !  "  cried  Big  Jim,  with  a  commanding  ges- 
ture, and  straightway  dug  his  big  paddle  in.  The  next 
instant  all  the  blades  took  the  water  together ;  the 
bow  turned  toward  the  farther  shore  ;  the  stroke  was 
now  much  faster,  and  the  Indians  chattered  unceasingly. 
Questioning  each  other,  we  three  whites  could  see 
nothing  to  fear,  nor  anticipate  any  danger  for  ourselves 
from  which  our  Ojibways  could  escape. 

Quarter  of  a  mile  ahead,  our  further  passage  seemed 
barred,  but  soon  we  rounded  a  turn  to  the  eastward, 
and  there,  sheer  before  us,  stretched  for  half  a  mile  or 
more  an  astounding  slope  of  water,  smooth  mostly  as  if 
running  over  glass.  Apparently  terminating  the  slope 
was  that  pillar  of  mist  panting  from  below,  then  smokily 
rising  and  spreading  wide  on  high. 


i6o 


IN    A   CANOE 


Scarcely  had  wc  comprehended  the  situation  when 
the  canoe  was  fairly  on  the  descent  and  racing  to  what 
seemed  inevitable  death. 

Lydgely  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  made  a  step  toward 
the  stern,  intending  probably  to  wrest  the  steering  pad- 
dle from  the  man  there.  Pell  seized  him.  **  No  use," 
he  said  ;  "too  late!     Sit  down!" 

Lydgely  obeyed.  We  were  too  far  in  for  retreat. 
To  turn  and  struggle  against  the  current  was  clearly 
impossible.  It  swept  us  on  with  astonishing  speed. 
A  large  stream  at  once  so  swift  and  so  smooth  I  have 
never  seen  before  nor  since. 

Have  you  ever  observed  shallow  water  running  down 
a  planed  slide  some  feet  wide  with  quick  incline  ?  It 
seems  to  shoot  along  in  parallel  streaks,  it  hurries 
millions  of  minute  bubbles  in  its  volume,  its  surface  is 
unbroken  except  above  splinters  in  the  boards  beneath. 
Such  was  the  current  down  which  we  flew,  only  this  was 
deep  and  irresistible. 

Little  waves  no  longer  lapped  against  the  canoe,  it 
kept  an  even  keel,  it  was  quite  untossed,  the  water  was 
noiseless  about  us,  we  might  have  heard  our  hearts 
beating  but  for  the  quick  stroke  of  the  paddles  and  the 
ever-increasing  roar  from  beneath  the  white  cloud  to- 
ward which  we  rushed.  The  Indians  had  now  become  as 
still  as  death  ;  their  bronzed  faces  had  a  tinge  of  pallor, 
I  thought ;  each  man  strained  forward,  peering  intently 
at  the  mist — features  rigid,  eyes  ablaze. 


W 


-'^ 


w 


IN    A    CANOE 


i6i 


Big  Jim,  in  the  bow,  stood  motionless,  paddle  lifted 
from  the  water  in  an  attitude  of  intense  attention.  We 
white  men  looked  at  each  other  helplessly — there  was 
nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  do  ;  blank  with  the  sense  of 
our  utter  powerlessness,  we  could  only  wait  to  see  what 
would  be  the  result  of  a  situation  so  amazing. 

Pell  spoke  but  once  : 

**It  ain't  suicide  they're  meaning,"  said  he,  "for 
they  ain't  singing  their  death  song." 

We  were  moving  at  far  greater  speed  than  the  river, 
for  the  Indians  kept  up  a  spurting  stroke,  giving  the 
canoe  steering  way,  which  enabled  the  man  astern  to 
edge  her  slightly  toward  the  north  shore.  Yet  she  left 
no  wake ;  five  feet  from  the  canoe  it  was  confused  with 
the  shooting  smoothness  of  the  stream. 

I  had  a  faint  idea  that  the  Indians  meant  to  land  on 
the  shore  we  were  nearing,  but  this  was  dispelled  with 
close  approach  ;  the  bank  was  of  smooth-faced  rock, 
stratified  so  evenly  that  it  looked  like  a  board  fence 
level  on  top,  yet  rising  in  height  with  every  moment 
of  our  progress.  Right  to  its  edge  the  current  ran 
swift  and  smooth. 

Once  more  I  looked  toward  the  mist  in  despair. 
What  was  beneath  it?  We  had  heard  that  the  river's 
leap  was  somewhere  very  great.  That  the  dreadful 
jump  was  close  before  us  seemed  certain,  from  the  cloud 
that  overhung,  and  the  roar  that  swelled  upward. 

Gazing,   I  became  aware  that  the  smooth  slope  on 


1 62 


IN    A   CANOE 


w 


which  we  slid  did  not  continue  to  the  brink  of  the  fall, 
but  ended  in  at  least  one  vast  roller,  as  wide  as  the 
river  itself — a  huge  bank  of  water  that  surged,  round- 
ing on  high,  with  appalling  massiveness.  The  top  of 
this  huge  roller  was  already  near  enough  to  form  the 
down-river  horizon.     What  was  beyond  ?  •( 

Short  was  the  doubt.  In  another  instant  the  great 
canoe  sprang  to  the  curving  front  of  the  billow,  and 
went  climbing  giddily  aloft. 

Poised  on  the  crest  for  an  instant,  I  saw  nothing  but 
another  immense,  smooth  wave  and  the  pillar  of  mist 
still  farther  beyond.  Down  we  plunged  into  the  vale  of 
waters,  and  swung  on  high  again  as  steadily  as  before, 
to  see  in  front  a  short,  ragged  rapid  ending  in  a  few 
yards  of  smooth  water,  close  to  the  most  astonishing 
plunge  that  mind  can  conceive. 

In  that  one  look  from  the  summit  I  could  see,  past 
both  sides  of  the  mist-pillar,  how  an  extending  chasm 
stretched  far  away  beneath  the  fall,  the  width  of  the 
gorge  dwarfed  by  the  height  of  its  perpendicular  walls, 
at  the  feet  of  which,  on  either  side,  a  long  ribbon  of 
emerald  green  sod  was  laved  by  the  stream  until  lost  in 
the  distance.  Such  an  overpowering  impression  of  being 
at  a  dizzy  height  was  gained  in  the  instant's  view  that 
I  scarcely  noticed  the  strange  chant  into  which  the 
Indians  had  suddenly  broken. 

Next  moment  we  thrashed  through  a  curling,  break- 
ing wave  that  drenched  us  to  the  skin,  and  went  scurry- 


IN    A   CANOE 


\^ 


163 


ing  into  the  lapping  waves  of  an  ordinary  rapid.  With 
the  familiar  motion  I  looked  ashore.  And  there,  close 
by  us,  was  a  spectacle  scarcely  less  awful  than  the  plunge 
we  were  nearing. 

The  rock  wall  near  us  was  cleft  clean  down,  and  in 
the  wide  cleft  was  a  whirlpool  that  absolutely  shrieked 
as  we  flew  along  its  extreme  edge.  Looking  across  its 
funnel  I  could  see  that  from  its  farther  Up  the  river  sent 
aside  to  the  1  t  a  narrow  branch  that  went  roaring 
through  a  long,  deep  gorge. 

Still  we  kept  straight  on.  We  were  now  so  close  to 
the  fall  that  I  could  see  the  long  emerald  ribbons  at  the 
foot  of  the  cliffs  almost  beneath  us.  Big  Jim,  statuesque 
in  the  bow,  seemed  on  the  very  brink  of  the  abyss. 

I  looked  at  Pell ;  he  thrust  his  big  left  hand  into 
mine  and  gripped  it  hard  ;  Lydgely  held  his  right.  We 
looked  once  more,  with  never  a  word,  into  each  other's 
eyes.     Then  I  closed  mine  for  very  horror. 

That  moment  I  expected  the  headlong  shoot  of  the 
canoe.  But  there  was  a  strong  jerk  and  swerve  instead. 
I  looked  again.  In  that  instant,  almost  on  the  fall's 
crown,  we  had  swept  into  the  eddy  that  ran  backward 
toward  the  whirlpool  with  racing  speed,  and  sooner 
than  I  can  write  it  we  had  skimmed  along  the  northern 
edge  of  the  dreadful  funnel,  shaken  free  of  its  "draw," 
and  were  slashing  down  the  easy  rapid  twelve  miles 
long,  by  which  the  narrow  north  branch  makes  the 
same  descent  as  the  falls  before  rejoining  the  river. 


^ 


'  ^ 


164 


IN    A   CANOE 


Free  of  the  whirlpool  the  Indians  fairly  howled  with 
laughter  and  pride  at  the  success  of  their  wild  exploit. 

We  learned  afterward  that  the  feat  had  been  ac- 
complished but  three  before  within  the  memory  of  the 
oldest  Indian,  on  the  last  of  which  occasions  Big  Jim 
had  been  in  the  canoe.  He  had  long  been  ambitious 
to  repeat  the  performance  and  succeeded,  to  our  sorrow, 
in  inducing  his  companions  to  make  the  attempt  by  wp.y 
of  a  practical  joke  on  Lydgely,  who  thought  the  Indian 
sense  of  humor  very  peculiar. 


U 


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MR.  HONGOAR'S  STRANGE  STORY 


>\ 


MY  fancy  goods  store  used  to  be  in  Pegram's  Block, 
the  eleven-story  building  on  the  short  and  busy 
street  called  Pegram's  Place  in  this  goodly  city  of  Boston. 
Pegram's  Block  was  formerly  but  seven  stories  in  height. 

The  day  before  they  began  to  tear  up  the  old  pitch- 
and-gravel  roof,  preparatory  to  adding  four  stories 
more,  I  went  up  there  to  see  once  more  a  scene  that 
had  become  familiar  to  me.  For  ten  years  my  habit 
had  been  to  go  out  on  the  roof  every  fine  evening. 
My  sitting  room  and  bedroom  were  in  the  fifth  story. 
I  am  not  a  married  man,  but  that  is  not  my  fault.  If 
I  wanted  to  marry  any  girl,  she  could  not  hear  me 
say  so.  If  any  girl  were  willing  to  marry  me,  I  could 
not  hear  her  admitting  it.     I  am  a  deaf-mute. 

Born  so?  No.  Scarlet  fever  did  it  when  I  was 
eight  years  old.     That  wasn't  my  fault  either. 

I  might  have  married  a  deaf-mute,  but  I  do  not  think 
two  deaf-mutes  should  marry.  Mr.  Abdiel  K.  Jones 
tells  me  there  is  no  use  giving  my  reasons  for  that 
opinion — another  time  will  do  better.  What  he  wants 
me  to  do  now  is  to  write  out  the  story  of  my  strange 
adventure  on  Pegram's  Block  roof 

165 


1 66 


MR.  HONGOAR'S  strange  STORY 


When  Mr.  Jones  told  me  he  wished  me  to  write  out 
the  story  myself,  1  said  1  couldn't. 

**  Why  not?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  can't  uiake  it  read  like  a  story,"  said  I. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to.  I  want  you  to  write  just  the 
plain  truth." 

"I'll  tell  you,  and  you  write  it,"  said  I. 

**  No,  I  want  you  to  do  it."  "  , 

''Well,  I'll  try." 

"That's  right,"  said  Mr.  Jones.  "You  got  on  by 
trying  things  people  said  you  couldn'  t  do.  Keep  on 
trying.''  '       * 

Mr.  Jones  and  I  talk  with  our  fingers,  but  he  is  not 
deaf  nor  dumb.  He  was  my  teacher  from  the  time  I 
lost  my  voice  and  ears.  He  is  my  teacher  now,  though 
T  have  a  big  business  to  attend  to. 

I  should  like  to  write  out  how  I  got  along  in  business. 
I  told  Mr.  Jones  so. 

He  said,  "The  right  way  is  to  begin  at  the  start. 
The  story  of  your  start  is  the  very  thing  I  want.  And 
it' s  the  story  of  your  start  in  business  too. ' ' 

Come  to  think  of  it,  that's  true.     Here  goes,  then  : 

I  used  to  be  a  roofer.  That  was  just  after  I  left  the 
asylum  on  Blasette  Avenue.  Mr.  Jones  taught  me 
there  for  seven  years.  Then  he  said  I  ought  to  be 
earning  my  living.  I  was  glad  then.  He  got  me  the 
job.     I  went  at  it  before  I  was  sixteen. 

My  boss  was  Mr.   Flaherty,  the  gravel-roofing  con- 


'   t 


MK.   HONGOARS   STRANGE   STORY 


167 


It 


1 1 


tractor.  All  I  had  to  do  was  keep  the  caldron  of  pitch 
boiling  and  full.  But  I  helped  in  other  ways  all  I 
could.     I  liked  to  help,  and  the  men  never  objected. 

That  was  real  kindness  to  me.  As  a  successful  busi- 
ness man,  I  want  to  state  right  here  that  the  man  who 
puts  some  of  his  own  work  off  on  a  boy  may  be  a  good 
friend  to  the  boy,  though  he's  not  likely  to  be  much  of 
a  man.  Many  of  Flaherty's  rooferb  liked  to  befriend 
me  in  that  way. 

When  I  was  nearly  seventeen  my  boss  got  the  con- 
tract for  putting  a  tar  and  gravel  roof  on  Pegram's 
Moral  Museum. 

Perhaps  some  people  in  Boston  don't  know  that 
Pegram's  Block  was  first  a  museum.  When  Pegram 
failed,  Barnum  bought  his  stock  of  moral  curiosities 
cheap  at  auction. 

**I  guess  ril  take  you  with  the  lot,  Pegram,"  said 
Barnum,  and  he  hired  the  Oia  man.  So  the  papers 
said  at  the  time.     I  remember  it  well. 

Old  Pegram  was  a  smart  man.  The  trouble  was  he 
was  too  smart.  He  was  always  going  in  for  big  things 
ahead  of  the  times.  Before  the  roof  was  half  on  he  had 
three  polar  bears  and  the  *  *  only  walrus  ever  on  exhibi- 
tion "  in  his  immense  front  window.  ^ 

There  they  were,  cool  as  you  please,  on  the  first  of 
July.  Pegram  had  fixed  up  a  wall  of  blocks  of  ice  in 
the  back  of  the  window,  and  overhead.  To  see  that 
biggest  polar  bear  clawing  up  fish  was  a  wonder. 


^ 


1 68 


MR.   HONGOAR  S   STRANGK   STORY 


If  any  Boston  people  remember  that  as  well  as  I  d»:, 
they  can  testify  what  crowds  came  the  first  week  or  two 
to  see  the  free  moral  show  in  the  window,  especially  at 
noon.  It  seemed  as  if  thousands  of  clerks  in  stores, 
working  girls,  mechanics,  ladies,  and  business  men  too, 
used  to  hurry  over  at  dinner  time  to  look  at  the  free 
entertainment. 

The  second  of  July  the  roof  was  going  on  in  a  great 
hurry.  There  were  so  many  men  at  work  on  top  that 
there  was  no  room  for  heating  pitch  up  there.  It  was 
boiled  in  two  big  caldrons  on  the  street.  Then  we 
hauled  it  up  by  rope  and  pulley  in  little  caldrons. 

There  were  four  of  these.  When  full  of  pitch  one  of 
them  would  weigh  three  or  four  hundred  pounds,  I 
dare  say.  It  looked  like  an  extra  big  stovepipe  with  an 
extra  little  stovepipe  going  up  alongside  of  it. 

The  little  stovepipe  connected  with  a  sort  of  flat  stove 
under  the  big  one.  In  this  we  made  fire  sometimes  to 
keep  the  pitch  hot  while  it  was  waiting  to  be  used. 
The  whole  thing  hung  on  a  handle  something  like  what 
a  wooden  pail  handle  would  be  if  it  was  fastened  on 
nearly  as  low  as  the  middle  of  the  pail ;  only  the  handle 
of  the  caldron  was  like  a  V  upside  down. 

At  the  top  of  the  handle  was  a  rope  which  passed 
over  a  pulley  in  the  arm  of  a  fixed  derrick  planted  on 
the  roof.  When  two  men  hoisted  up  a  boiling  caldron, 
it  almost  touched  the  sheet-iron  rain  trough  or  cornice 
gutter  along  the  front  of  Pegram's  Block. 


U 


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I 


I 


i 


I 


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MR.  IIONGOARS   STRANGE  STORY 


169 


*» 


i 


Flaherty's  men  at  the  street  caldrons  always  warned 
the  people  to  stand  from  under  when  the  hot  pitch  was 
going  up ;  but  none  ever  fell.  The  caldron  was  kept 
from  possible  tipping  by  a  spring  on  each  side  that  the 
handle  set  into.  When  we  wanted  to  pour  hot  pitch 
out  of  the  caldron  we  had  to  press  in  these  springs. 

At  half- past  twelve  on  the  second  of  July  I  was  the 
only  person  on  the  roof.  I  had  eaten  my  dinner  with 
the  other  men  on  the  vacant  sixth  floor,  and  come  up 
again  to  put  a  little  fire  under  a  caldron. 

This  caldron  had  been  hauled  up  while  twelve  was 
striking.  There  it  hung,  clear  of  the  cornice,  right 
over  the  sidewalk.  The  other  end  of  the  rope  was 
passed  around  a  cleat  twenty  feet  back  from  the  front. 

I  put  in  some  fire,  though  the  pitch  was  still  very 
hot.  Then  I  sat  down  in  the  rain  gutter.  My  feet 
were  dangling  more  than  a  hundred  feet  above  the 
crowd  below.  If  I  did  that  now  I  should  have  creepy 
feelings  in  the  soles  of  my  feet  and  up  my  back,  I  guess  ; 
but  in  those  days  I  was  used  to  working  on  high  places. 
The  rain  trough  was  a  very  wide  and  deep  one,  for  it 
had  to  carry  off  the  water  from  half  of  Pegram's  im- 
mense roof.  I  could  sit  in  it  comfortably.  My  back 
was  against  the  edge  of  the  roof  itself. 

When  I  wished  to  look  very  straight  down  I  held  on 
by  my  two  hands  to  the  edge  of  the  rain  trough,  and 
bent  over  till  I  could  see  the  shine  of  the  plate-glass 
seven  stories  below,  and  right  under  my  backbone. 


I/O 


MR.   HONGOARS   STRANGE   STORY 


I  was  watching  the  straw  hats  and  parasols  of  the 
crowd  looking  at  Pegram's  moral  walrus  and  polar 
bears.  Hot  and  sort  of  dusty  was  the  glare  of  sunshine 
beating  down  on  the  pavement.  No  one  was  looking 
up  at  me. 

In  the  upper  windows  of  the  ladies'  restaurant  across 
the  street  I  could  see  women  at  their  dinners.  They 
often  leaned  out,  gazing  two  stories  down  on  the  crowd, 
while  I  looked  five  stories  down  on  them. 

Incessantly  the  people  pressed,  shifted,  and  changed 
around  the  two  street  caldrons  of  boiling  pitch,  whence 
pungent  smoke,  rolling  straight  up  in  the  windless  air, 
became  thin  and  blue,  and  waveringly  vanished  in  the 
sunlit  atmosphere  before  ascending  to  my  elevation. 

Sometimes  the  people  crammed  closer,  leaving  the 
street  railway  tracks  clear  for  the  passage  of  a  car. 
The  solitary  policeman  then  moved  along  the  lane  with 
an  air  of  being  indulgent  to  all  his  fellow-beings. 

It  amused  me  to  note  how  some  boys  and  men 
rapidly  elbowed  their  way  to  the  front,  while  more  lost 
ground  in  cunning  attempts  to  get  ahead  by  pressing  to 
one  side  or  the  other,  as  they  fancied  they  saw  an 
easier  passage.  Most  of  the  people  took  position  at 
the  rear,  and  were  stolidly  pressed  up  to  the  front  in 
their  turn,  as  the  van  constantly  melted  away  and  the 
rear  was  incessantly  renewed. 

So  goes  life.  To  get  to  the  front  speedily  one  must 
keep  shoving  straight  ahead,  and  know  how. 


r: 


■i;.-  -r, 


-'.(        ■ 


MR.   KONGO ARS   STRANGE   STORY 


171 


I  liked  to  see  so  much  movement.  People  coming 
along  the  two  great  thoroughfares  at  the  ends  of  Pe- 
gram's  Place  would  see  the  crowd  and  hurry  to  join  it. 
Some  hastened  away  as  soon  as  they  found  what  occa- 
sioned the  throng. 

There  was  a  constant  going  in  and  coming  out  at 
store  doors ;  people  nodding  to  their  acquaintances,  a 
few  stopping  and  shaking  hands.  To  me  on  high  with 
sealed  ears  they  seemed  like  so  many  puppets  out  of 
our  asylum  pantomime,  all  going  around  alive. 

I  wondered  what  it  would  be  like  if  my  ears  were 
suddenly  made  good.  The  sounds  of  a  city  I  have 
never  heard,  for  I  was  a  country  child  before  I  became 
a  deaf-mute. 

One  man,  threading  his  way  through  the  throng, 
caught  and  held  my  attention.  To  and  fro,  deviously, 
snakehke  he  went,  often  turning  his  head  toward  the 
policeman,  sometimes  stopping  and  looking  indifferently 
around.  At  these  times  I  could  not  see  his  hands,  but 
I  guessed  they  were  picking  pockets. 

He  excited  me.  I  longed  to  be  able  to  cry  out, 
*'Stop  thief!" 

In  my  excitement  I  leaned  over  a  little  too  far. 
Instantly  I  was  dizzy  with  the  fear  of  falling.  After  an 
unbalanced  moment,  my  clutch  at  the  outer  rim  of  the 
iron  gutter  saved  me,  and  I  sat  back,  trembling. 

Soon  the  tremor  passed.  I  looked  down  again. 
The  pickpocket  was  still  busy.     It  made  me  angry  to 


1/2 


MR.  HONGOAR  S  STRANGE  STORY 


see  him  robbing  the  people,  all  so  busy  and  trustful  of 
one  another.  I  rose  to  go  to  the  other  roofers  and 
point  out  the  thief.  As  I  stood  up  and  stooped  for 
another  look,  a  little  pebble  rolled  off  the  turned-up 
edge  of  my  soft  felt  hat.  My  eyes  followed  its  fall. 
It  struck  a  straw  hat  and  bounded  to  another.  Two 
men  looked  up.  I  suppose  they  said  something,  as 
they  pointed.  All  the  people  suddenly  looked  up  at 
me.  Instantly  they  began  to  disperse.  I  suppose  the 
smoking  caldron  of  pitch  just  above  my  shoulder  scared 
them.  The  pickpocket  looked  most  alarmed,  and 
rapidly  made  off  around  the  corner. 

I  was  a  bashful  boy,  and  the  sudden  uplooking  of  so 
many  eyes  dazed  me  a  little.  Nervously  I  stepped 
back,  and  walked  up  to  the  ridge.  On  my  way  back  I 
stumbled  over  the  cleat  around  which  the  pulley-rope 
went  with  two  hitches.  Without  noticing  that  I  had 
disarranged  the  tie,  I  went  back  down  to  the  edge. 

The  crowd  was  smaller  than  before,  but  constantly 
growing.  None  seemed  there  who  had  looked  up  at 
me.  At  least  there  were  now  no  upturned  faces.  I 
looked  down  again  on  a  street  whose  pavement  was 
hidden  by  hats  and  parasols. 

The  pitch  beside  me  was  boiling  with  the  little  fire  I 
had  set  under  it.  To  stop  the  ferment,  I  lifted  a  block 
of  pitch  which  weighed  about  four  pounds  from  the 
roof,  and  gently  placed  it  in  the  caldron.  Instantly 
the  smoking  vessel  began  to  descend. 


a- 


MR.  HONGOAR  S  STRANGE   STORY 


173 


The  small  additional  weight  had  been  enough  to 
begin  drawing  the  disturbed  rope  through  the  cleat 
twenty  feet  behind  me.  .- 

I  grasped  at  the  handle  of  the  caldron.  It  stopped. 
My  lifting  power  was  more  than  enough  to  restore  the 
disturbed  equilibrium. 

I  looked  around  at  the  cleat.  It  was  clear  that  the 
rope  lay  so  that  it  might,  if  further  drawn  out,  give 
way  at  any  instant  and  let  the  boiling  caldron  fall  into 
the  throng. 

More  than  one  might  be  killed  by  the  heavy  vessel, 
and  how  many  hideously  wounded  by  the  scalding  and 
sticky  mass  ! 

My  hands  were  already  deeply  burned,  for  the  han- 
dle where  I  had  to  grasp  it,  near  the  edge  of  the  cal- 
dron, was  hot. 

I  seized  my  soft  hat  with  my  left  hand.  At  that  the 
caldron  began  to  descend  again.  With  my  right  hand 
alone  I  could  not  keep  it  from  falling. 

I  dared  not  jump  back  and  att«.'M  ^t  to  get  a  better 
hitch  on  the  cleat.  The  hot  pitc'i  might  be  down 
among  the  people  before  I  could  htize  the  rope  on  the 
roof. 

My  hat  was  now  between  my  two  hands  and  the  hot 
handle.  That  was  a  relief  But  my  burned  palms 
were  soon  less  painful  than  the  strain  on  my  back, 
neck,  arms,  and  legs. 

I   know  now  that  I  must  have  lifted  with  all  my 


174 


MR.  HONGOAR  S   STRANGE  STORY 


Strength,  because  I  was  wild  with  horror  at  what  might 
happen  to  the  people  below  in  consequence  of  my 
carelessness.  Out  over  the  edge  I  had  to  reach,  that 
my  lifting  might  be  straight  upward.  I  could  not  put 
a  foot  forward  to  get  a  better  balance  for  my  body, 
without  stepping  into  blank  air. 

All  my  force  had  to  be  exerted  as  I  stood  in  the  rain 
trough,  my  arms  held  straight  before  me,  my  shoulders 
bent  forward  toward  the  vessel.  At  any  instant,  if  I 
nervously  started,  I  might  pitch  over  and  down  into 
that  mass  of  women,  children,  and  men  along  with  the 
seething  black  mass  whose  acrid  smoke  drifted  into  my 
nostrils. 

I  thought  of  swaying  the  caldron  on  to  the  roof  as 
two  strong  men  were  accustomed  to  do  before  tipping 
its  contents  into  pails.  But  that  feat  was  wholly  beyond 
my  strength.  The  two  men  were  always  assisted  by  a 
third,  who  held  the  rope  around  the  cleat  so  that  he 
might  stop  it  if  anything  went  wrong. 

Let  any  one  who  wants  to  get  a  clear  idea  of  my  posi- 
tion hold  a  heavy  weight  straight  out  before  him  with  his 
two  arms  extended  at  the  height  of  his  shoulders.  In 
this  torturing  attitude  my  strength  soon  began  to  fail, 
and  my  arms  to  tremble.  Every  muscle  of  my  back, 
neck,  and  legs  was  strained  in  agony. 

Yet  I  could  not  wholly  check  the  caldron's  descent. 
Tt  slowly  went  down.  'I'he  rope  slowly  paid  ont.  Very 
slowly,  understand.     It  had  gone  down  six  inches  when 


MR.  HONGOAR'S   strange   STORY 


175 


K 


\V 


I  knew  it  was  still  falling  very  slowly,  but  not  so  slowly 
as  at  first. 

"God  help  me  !  God  help  me  !"  I  kept  thinking. 
"God,  take  my  life  alone,  and  help  me  to  save  the 
innocent  people  away  down  below. ' ' 

Of  all  the  thousand  that  I  could  see  not  one  looked 
up.  Some  pigeons  suddenly  flew,  and  fluttering  settled 
on  the  roof  of  the  restaurant  across  the  street,  four 
stories  lower  than  I.  They  preened  themselves  in  the 
hot  sunshine,  strutted  a  little,  looked  down  at  the 
crowd,  and  flew  suddenly  away.  I  turned  my  head, 
looking  along  the  roofs  for  aid.  Not  a  soul  was  to  be 
seen  on  any  of  them.  A  photographer  standing  in  a 
skylight  across  the  block  three  hundred  yards  away  was 
calmly  taking  up  and  examining  his  row  of  prints.  His 
side-face  was  toward  me. 

Looking  far  past  him  I  could  see  the  clock  face  in  the 
white  steeple  of  Park  Street  Church,  by  the  Common. 
The  time  was  four  minutes  to  one. 

The  men  must  be  already  coming  np  to  work.  But 
I  could  not  hold  on  one  minute  longer.  My  brain  was 
reeiiiig  again  with  the  sensatiorx  of  height,  and  m> 
whole  body  was  trembling.  ,     ^ 

Again  I  looked  down.  Such  was  the  anguish  of  my 
longing  to  shout  to  the  people  that  I  know  I  tried. 
Now  children  on  their  way  to  school  had,  in  large 
numbers,  joined  the  throng. 

Suddenly  the  two  men  employed  at  the  street  caldrons 


11 


1/6 


MR.  HONGOARS  STRANGE  STORY 


came  out  from  the  museum.  One  looked  up.  My 
face  and  posture  must  have  frightened  him.  He  threw 
up  his  hands,  and  no  doubt  shouted.  The  whole  crowd 
looked  up  at  me.  I  thought  how  the  pitch  would  fall 
on  the  uplifted  faces,  for  now  I  knew  I  must  drop  down 
in  a  few  seconds. 

Next  moment  the  people  were  flying  apart  as  if  an 
explosion  had  scattered  them.  Still  I  tried  to  hold  up 
the  caldron.  The  last  thing  I  remember  was  seeing  old 
Pegram  at  the  back  of  the  crowd  that  had  halted,  I 
could  not  tell  how  far  away.  He  shook  his  fist  furiously 
at  me. 

All  at  once  I  understood  that  they  supposed  I  had 
uung  down  the  pitch.  For  it  was  gone.  I  stood  on 
the  roof  edge,  staggered,  and  fell. 

I  fell  brick  on  the  nearly  flat  roof.  When  I  came  to 
my  senses  a  policeman  was  waiting  to  take  me  to  the 
station  on  the  charge  of  having  attempted  wholesale 
murder.      Pegram  brought  it  against  me. 

Nobody  had  been  hurt.  The  old  man  was  infuriated 
by  the  spattering  of  pitch  over  his  great  show  window. 
For  me — I  saw  clearly  that  the  evidence  was  nearly  all 
against  me.  The  rope  had  been  left  fastened  ;  it  had 
come  undone  ;  and  who  but  I  had  been  on  the  roof? 

The  most  sensational  p'n  er  then  in  Boston  declared, 
in  half  a  column  of  dtlirious  headlir>i  5,  that  I  hated  my 
fellow- beings  because  they  could  hear  and  talk  while  I 
was  deaf  and  mute. 


i 


,,v  H 


MR.   HONGOARS   STRANGE   STORY 


i;7 


Mr.  Abdiel  Jones  got  me  out  of  that  trouble  by 
translating  my  sign  language  in  open  court  and  calling 
attention  to  the  cracked,  bleeding,  and  swollen  fingers, 
burned  nearly  to  the  bone,  with  which  I  told  my  tale. 

He  and  all  my  friends  at  the  asylum,  as  well  as  my 
boss  Flaherty  and  his  foreman,  testified  to  my  good 
character.  See  the  value  of  a  good  character.  So  I 
was  declared  not  guilty. 

Then  the  sensational  paper  turned  around  and  adver- 
tised me  as  a  hero.  The  other  papers  said  so  too, 
though  I  have  never  been  able  to  see  why. 

So  it  came  about  that  I  got  a  big  custom  from  the  very 
next  day,  when  Mr.  Pegram  set  me  up  with  a  stock  of 
fruit  and  knick-knacks  in  the  big  museum  door.  This 
was  his  way  of  showing  that  he  was  sorry  for  charging 
me  falsely.  Also  it  paid — the  papers  gave  his  gener- 
osity so  much  free  advertising. 

From  that  I  got  along,  adding  one  thing  to  another, 
and  at  last  renting  half  of  Pegram' s  Block,  till  now  I 
am  greatly  blessed  with  this  world's  goods,  and  able  to 
help  Mr.  Abdiel  Jones'  plans  for  educating  my  fellow- 
sufferers. 


M 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE   CLIFF 


IN  Montreal,  on  fine  winter  evenings,  people  passing 
along  the  great  thoroughfare  of  St.  Catharine's 
Street  were  formerly  often  attracted  into  the  grounds  of 
the  Tuque  Bleue  Toboggan  Club,  by  the  confusion  of 
voices  and  laughter  from  crowds  within.  Ther '  the 
people  gathered  to  watch  the  toboggans  rushing  arojnd 
and  against  a  number  of  long,  curving,  parallel,  and 
concentric  embankments,  with  which  the  slides  ended. 
These  embankments  of  snow  were  thrown  up  to  keep 
the  swift  vehicles  from  crashing  into  a  high  board  fence 
that  separated  the  street  from  the  club  grounds,  which 
were  not  of  an  area  to  afford  a  straight  run  to  a  finish, 
from  the  steep  chute  whence  the  toboggans  plunged. 
Down  they  swooped,  four  or  five  almost  simultaneously, 
in  flight  on  five  separate  grooves  of  ice.  Reaching  the 
level,  they  shot,  with  arrowy  swiftness,  straight  for  the 
high  fence  till,  touching  an  embankment,  they  half  sur- 
mounted it,  were  nearly  overturned  and  then  flung  off, 
to  sweep  slanting  around  the  curve  into  the  polished 
space  of  snow,  where  the  run  terminated.  Because 
sometimes,  a  toboggan  leapt  across  an  inner  embank- 
ment to  collide  with  one  circling  in  an  outer  grove,  and 
178 


1t 


!  ! 


(  » 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE  CLIFF 


179 


h, 


because  of  occasional  upsets,  the  sport  possessed  a 
certain  element  of  danger  very  evident  and  therefore 
exciting  to  spectators.  * 

One  brilliant  February  evening  I  stood  close  to  the 
point  where  the  curves  begin,  observing  the  approach  of 
a  very  swift  and  heavily-laden  toboggan,  which  had  come 
down  the  chute  alone  and  now  flew  straight  toward  me 
with  such  momentum  as  to  give  me  something  of  the 
sensation  that  comes  from  watching  the  approach  of  an 
express  train.  Involuntarily  I  stepped  aside,  as  though 
the  embankments  at  my  feet  were  not  there  to  check  the 
toboggan's  rush.  At  that  moment  I  felt  my  arm 
clutched  and  heard  a  shrill  scream  at  my  elbow.  There 
stood  a  lady  with  whom  I  had  a  very  slight  acquaintance. 
She  seemed  quite  unconscious  of  having  seized  my  arm. 
I  was  aware  that  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  her,  and  that  a 
perfect  lull  of  voices  and  laughter  had  occurred.  While 
every  one  gazed  at  her,  she  alone  watched  the  approach- 
ing toboggan.  Her  eyes  were  wide  with  fear ;  her  face 
showed  pale  beneath  the  electric  light ;  she  did  not  so* 
much  as  breathe,  but  stood  there  rigid,  grasping  my  arm, 
so  that  I  could  feel  each  finger  tip,  It  was  for  little 
more  than  an  instant ;  then  the  toboggan  load  was  flung 
up  the  embankment  at  our  feet,  its  ladies  screaming  with 
fearful  joy  as  it  sheered  madly  off,  and  swept  away  safely 
on  its  course.  I  did  not  watch  it  further,  for  the  lady 
at  my  side  had  fainted.  Not  until  a  day  went  by  did  I 
understand  the  cause. 


i8o 


STRAIGHT    FOR  THE   CUFF 


<( 


What  a  trouble  I  must  have  been  to  you,"  sa'd 
she,  next  evening,  in  her  own  drawing  room.  "To 
think  of  my  fainting — before  all  those  people  !  I'm 
ashamed  of  myself!  It  was  so  fortunate  that  yon  knew 
me.  What  [)0ssessed  me — to  go  into  the  grounds,  I 
mean — I  can't  think,  fori  might  have  known  I  couldn't 
l)ear  the  sight — indeed,  I  did  know  that.  I  haM  re- 
fused for  years  to  slide  or  look  it  a  slide.  It  was  im- 
pulse. I  was  passing,  and  suddenly  I  thought  I 
would  dare  to  look  on.  How  foolish  !  Had  I  an 
accident  ?  Oh,  yes,  indeed  !  A  fearful  thing — not 
here,  you  know;  lOt  in  Montreal.  But  we  had  a 
dreadful  accident  once."  And  she  shuddered  at  the 
recollection.      '  ■  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it  ?  " 

"You  had  better  let  me  tell  it,"  said  her  husband  ; 
"it  is  sure  to  make  you  nervous." 

She  acquiesced,  and  he  sat  beside  her  and  held  her 
han.'  V hile  he  spoke. 

"You  know  the  gorge  of  the  Niagara,  below  the 
falls,  don't  you?"  asked  he.  "No?  Well,  you 
know  there  i  i  gorge.  The  river  jumps  down  its  hun- 
dred and  sixty  feet,  and  then  crowds  along  in  a  dark 
chasm  between  almost  precipitous  walls.  To  stand 
anywhere  near  the  edge  and  look  down  is  to  feel  as  if 
impelled  forward  to  go  over — a  horrible  sensation. 
Well,  a  road  on  the  Canadian  side  used  to  run  nearly 
parallel  with  and  close  to  the  cliff's  edge — perhaps  the 
road  is  there  yet.     Driving  along  it  at  night  one  often 


STRAIGHT    FOR   THE   CLIFF 


l8l 


if 


shrank  back,  and  clutched  the  reins  tighter,  at  thought 
of  the  sheer  droi'  so  close  by ;  and  how  his  horses  might 
shy  and  dash  over  and  down — down,  turning,  struggling, 
confused  in  the  air — down  into  the  black  gulf! " 

''It  is  a  fearful  drive  at  night/'  said  the  lady  shiv- 
ering. 

*'  It  was  especially  dangerous  ii  the  winter,  when  the 
niist  irom  the  falls  had  been  drift  ng  down  river,  freezing 
and  making  the  road  slippei .  tjlare  ice.  Then  a 
sleigh  slashed  and  slipped  fron  .  to  side,  sometimes 
tipping  a  little,  and  one  felt  that  a  quick  overturn  might 
fling  him  over  the  glassy  surface,  which  inclined  slightly 
to  the  cliff,  vainly  grasping  for  a  hold,  till  at  last — over. 
In  one  way  or  another,  the  imminence  of  the  precipice 
is  often  forced  on  the  attention  of  residents  near  by. 
One  is  always  conscious  of  living  near  the  jumping-off 
place,  and  when  one  gets  back  into  the  country,  which 
in  places  rises  quickly,  a  little  from  the  cliff,  one  has  a 
glad  sensatic  n  of  being  out  of  danger. " 

**Yes,  I've  felt  that,"  said  the  lady.  *'I  was  always 
nervous  there. ' ' 

"Yet  she  went  tobogganing  on  a  slide  that  ran 
straight  toward  the  chasm,"  explained  her  husband  in 
a  half-amused,  half-chiding  tone.  And  again  his  wife 
shuddered. 

*  *  It  was  in  this  way, ' '  he  went  on.  *  *  The  ground,  as 
I  said,  slopes  quickly  upward  at  a  little  distance  away 
from  the  sheer  bank.     Now,  my  wife  used  to  be  wildly 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


A 


1.0 


1.1 


l^|28     |2.5 

|50     ^^       Ml^ 

^  Ki&    12.2 
\^   1^    12.0 


I 


1.8 


1.25  1  1.4   1 1.6 

< 

6"     

» 

Photographic 

Sdences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


I82 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE    CLIFF 


fond  of  tobogganing — a  regular  Montreal  girl,  you 
know.  Her  nerves  were  never  weak  enough  to  restrain 
her  from  sliding.  So,  eight  years  ago,  when  we  were 
living  up  there,  I  got  leave  from  a  farmer  to  make  a  to- 
boggan slide  on  a  natural  slope  in  his  field.  It  ran 
straight  toward  the  precipice,  just  as  the  Tuque  Bleue 
does  toward  St.  Catharine  Street ;  and  I  cut  off  danger 
by  a  high,  curving  snow-embankment,  exactly  in  the 
Tuque  Bleue  way.  The  only  effect  of  the  precipice 
on  our  operations  was,  that  I  had  the  embankment 
made  very  high  at  the  point  where  we  ran  into  it  first. 
There  I  had  a  sort  of  plank  roof  built  for  the  founda- 
tion and  carried  the  bank  up  fully  twenty  feet.  It  was 
quite  satisfactory.  We  dashed  into  it  at  an  immense 
speed  when  the  slide  was  in  good  order  ;  sometimes  the 
toboggan  climbed  half-way  up  or  more " 

*  *  Often,  at  first,  I  thought  we  must  go  over, ' '  inter- 
rupted his  wife. 

"  In  that  case  we  must  have  been  across  the  road  and 
over  the  cliff  in  an  instant, ' '  he  resumed.  *  *  But  that 
fear  soon  passed  away.  We  had  a  jolly  winter,  the 
snow  being  unusually  deep  in  that  district  that  season. 
How  we  used  to  shoot  down,  then  go  skimming  over 
the  level,  then  hurl  against  the  embankment  like  mad, 
and  go  tearing  around  the  curve  to  a  long,  slight  slope 
down  river,  close  to  and  parallel  with  the  road  !  The 
only  trouble  was  that  many  people  complained  that  we 
frightened  their  horses,  which  in  that  country  seldom 


STRAIGHT   FOR  THE  CLIFF 


183 


see  tobogganing.  At  last  they  threatened  legal  inter- 
ference ;  and,  no  doubt  it  was  too  bad  of  us,  consider- 
ing the  danger  from  the  shying  of  skittish  teams  along 
that  dreadful  bank. ' ' 

**  I've  often  thought  since  that  we  almost  deserved 
to  be  punished  for  our  selfishness,"  said  the  lady. 

"Well,  by  March  the  complaints  had  become  very 
many,  and  we  made  up  our  minds  to  discontinue  the 
sport.  The  mist  had  been  sweeping  down  river  for 
some  days ;  it  was  a  cold  snap.  The  road  and  narrow 
bank  beyond  were  fearfully  slippery  with  ice,  made  by 
the  freezing  mist ;  the  teamsters  were  angrier  than  ever 
at  our  sliding,  and  reports  reached  us  that  some  of  them 
talked  of  forcibly  hindering  us.  I  determined  to  save 
them  the  trouble,  so  on  the  seventh  of  the  month  I 
engaged  laborers  to  come  next  day  to  remove  the 
snow  and  planking,  that  everybody  might  know  we  had 
yielded  to  public  opinion. 

**  About  nine  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  seventh, 
my  wife  went  to  look  out  of  the  dining-room  window, 
which  faced  toward  the  hill  where  the  chute  was.  It 
was  a  lovely,  clear,  moonlight  night,  with  a  spectral, 
thin  mist  drifting  over  the  landscape,  sometimes  shifting 
to  let  us  see  the  sky  and  stars.  I  came  and  stood  by 
my  wife's  side. 

*<  'What  a  night  for  tobogganing!'  said  she  sud- 
denly. *  Do  let  us  go  out  and  have  a  few  more  runs ; 
it's  our  last  chance  this  winter.' 


1 84 


STRAIGHT    FOR   THE   CLIFF 


* '  Her  sister  was  visiting  us — also  an  enthusiast  for 
the  sport.  *  Do, '  said  she  too.  Now  I  had  made  up 
njy  mind — or  thought  I  had — not  to  give  teams  on  the 
road  any  more  frights.  But  the  ladies  were  in  a  majority 
and  of  course  they  had  their  way.  In  a  few  minutes 
we  stood  at  the  head  of  the  slide.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  scene  ! 

**  Across  the  river,  down  whose  chasm  the  mist 
drifted  slowly,  we  could  see  the  moon,  high  above  the 
volumes  of  vapor,  in  a  clear  and  starry  sky.  Of  the 
embankment  and  the  road  nothing  could  be  seen,  be- 
cause of  mist  clinging  to  the  low  ground  before  us.  The 
hillside,  and  part  of  the  level  near  its  foot,  showed  one 
glistening  icy  groove.  Through  the  dull  roar  of  the  not 
distant  falls  we  could  hear  sleigh-bells,  and  a  few  shouts 
came  from  the  road,  toward  which  we  soon  swooped 
down.  The  chute  was  in  splendid  order — we  had  used 
it  till  late  that  afternoon.  I  think  we  never  flew  so 
fast ;  our  speed  was  frightful ;  yet  I  never  imagined  we 
could  leap  the  embankment. 

*  *  We  felt  in  no  danger  except  that  on  rushing  against 
the  snow  wall  we  might  be  rudely  overset.  The  thought 
of  that  horrible  chasm  yawning  not  more  than  seventy 
or  eighty  feet  beyond  the  embankment  had  lost  its 
terrors  through  custom.  Down  we  rushed,  our  shrill 
bells  fairly  shrieking.  I  can  hear  now  the  gl«  1  ring 
of  my  wife's  laugh,  as  we  reached  the  level  and  j^immed 
on,  with  that  peculiar  sensation  of  being  lifted  up  and 


1\ 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE   CLIFF 


185 


1 


forward  with  increasing  speed,  which  comes  to  tobog- 
ganers running  very  swiftly  on  a  smooth  plain. 

As  my  wife  laughed,  a  chorus  of  shouts — ^alarmed 
screams,  rather-^— came  from  the  road.  *  Back  !  Hold 
on  !     Oh,  for  God's  sake,  don't  come  !     Hold  on  ! " 

**  Peering  ahead,  I  could  for  the  instant  see  nothing 
except  mist.  But  perhaps  barely  a  second  had  gone 
when  I  dimly  saw  forms  ahead,  and  then  made  out  a 
large  group  of  men,  some  waving  caps,  all  wildly  gesticu- 
lating, some  standing  right  in  our  way,  some  on  the  top 
of  the  embankment.  They  perceived  us  clearly  then. 
*Oh,  merciful  God,'  cried  one  aloud;  'he's  got  the 
ladies  with  him  ! ' 

**  Then  came  a  confused,  wilder  cry,  and  some  of  the 
men  ran  away,  while  others  bunched  up  as  if  to  oppose 
our  passage.  My  feeling  at  that  moment  was  of  anger 
only.  I  thought  they  were  there  to  interfere  with  us. 
I  had — God  forgive  me — an  instant  of  savage  joy  to 
think  how  they  would  scatter  before  our  desperate  rush, 
or  be  hurled  down ;  for  it  was  not  possible  to  conceive 
of  human  beings  stopping  our  fierce  flight. 

"  '  Out  of  the  road,'  I  cried,  *or  we'll  be  into  you  ! 
Out  of  the  way  !* 

At  that  instant — if  any  division  of  instant  can  be 
imagined  when  all  was  occurring  as  in  a  flash — the  ladies 
shrieked  their  alarm.  And  before  us  a  great  cry  arose 
again,  and  a  tremendous  voice  shouted  :  *  Hold — Hold 
back  ! — Turn  out ! — Stop  ! — For  God's  sake  stop  !— 


1 86 


STRAIGHT    FOR   THE   CLIFF 


You'll  be  over  the  cuff! — The  embankment's 
torn  away  !  '  .  . 

**  The  men  opened  their  rank^instinctively — we  were 
within  thirty  yards  of  them — and  I  saw,  through  a  wide 
gap,  the  massed  mist  of  the  gorge,  at  which  we  were 
hurling ! 

**AU  was  plain.  The  threats  against  us  had  been 
fulfilled  without  warning — of  course  they  had  not  sup- 
posed we  would  be  out  that  night.  There  was  the  gap 
exactly  where  the  wall  should  have  flung  us  on  the 
curve,  and  I  understood  that  in  a  few  seconds  more  we 
three  would  fly  into  the  air  off  that  hideous  precipice, 
to  tumble  over  and  over,  and  fall,  mangled,  upon  the 
black  flood  of  the  then  open  river. ' ' 

"Why  did  you  not  throw  yourselves  off?"  I  asked. 

"I  was  paralyzed  with  fear,"  said  the  lady,  in  a 
shuddering  whisper ;  *  *  and  my  sister  had  already  fainted 
dead  away." 

"I  saw  or  knew  that,"  went  on  her  husband.  **I, 
felt  that  both  were  immovable  and  lost.  Could  I  slip  off 
and  let  them  go?  The  man  had  cried,  'Turn  out  I' 
But  that  was  impossible.  The  grooves  from  the  chute 
lasted  clear  to  and  around  the  curve,  therefore  held  the 
toboggan  straight  toward  death.  There  was  but  one 
thing  to  try,  and  that  I  knew  was  hopeless.  Seizing  the 
siderods  I  slid  off  and  dragged  behind,  though  well 
aware  that  over  that  smooth  ice  I  must  be  pulled  with 
scarcely  any  resistance  by  the  astonishing  momentum 


.( f 


STRAIGHT   FOR   THE  CLIFF 


187 


\.:: 


the  vehicle  had  attained.  One  glance  I  gave — the  gap 
was  very  wide — then  I  held  on  and  dragged,  and  then 
in  an  instant  I  knew  nothing. " 

**But  you  escaped,  you  escaped — you  did  not  go 
over  ! "  I  exclaimed. 

"  I  will  tell  the  rest,"  said  the  quivering  voice  of  the 
lady.  **My  sister  had  fallen  back  upon  me.  I  felt 
that  George  was  no  longer  touching  me.  Oh,  what  a 
cruel  wrong  I  did  him  in  that  flash  of  thought — I  be- 
lieved he  had  abandoned  us!  I  shrieked,  more,  I 
think,  with  the  horror  of  his  leaving  us  than  anything 
else  ;  that  had  in  some  way  crowded  out  my  fear  of  the 
flight  into  the  void  before.  As  I  shrieked,  I  saw  the 
men  huddle  together  right  in  our  path  ;  two  knelt,  with 
their  shoulders  forward,  bracing  themselves  for  the 
shock.  Then  there  was  a  horrible_  crash — we  seemed 
hurled  up — and  then  I  fainted.  When  I  recovered 
I  was  at  home,  my  sister  beside  my  bed.  She  had 
escaped  with  bruises ;  but  I  was  very  badly  hurt,  and 
George  had  his  shoulder  broken." 

**  But  how  did  you  escape?  "  I  asked. 

"The  two  men — ^brave  fellows  they  were,"  an- 
swered her  husband;  "the  two  who  knelt  were  both 
very  badly  hurt ;  for  the  toboggan  flung  both  down,  and 
rising  flew  right  into  the  solid  mass  of  men  behind, 
there  stopping.  Half  a  dozen  were  more  or  less 
injured.  I  don't  know  but  it  was  as  terrible  an  adven- 
ture for  the  teamsters  as  for  ourselves. '  * 


THE  SWORD  OF  HONOR 


NOT  long  ago  Mr. 
Adam  Baines,  a 
gray-haired  survivor  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Cavalry  Serv- 
ice, told  this  curious  story 
to  his  friends : 

It  was  the  middle  of 
May  and  my  mind  was 
running  on  Memorial  Day, 
old  comrades,  and  a  sword, 
which  had  often  caught  my  eye  as  I  walked  past  the 
pawnshop  window.  Though  it  could  not  dignify  the 
dingy  place,  it  gained,  I  thought,  additional  severity 
from  the  assorted  squalor.  Back  of  it,  concealing  the 
interior  of  Amminadab's  store,  hung  two  frowzy  gowns 
of  yellow  silk,  suggestive  of  bedizened  negresses.  Be- 
side it  lay  the  scabbard,  flexible,  white,  and  gold- 
mounted.  An  open  case  of  tarnished  fruit-knives, 
some  flashy  opera  glasses,  cheap  rings,  brooches,  and 
sleeve-links  lay  strewn  about.     Rows  of  questionable 

watches  hung  on  hooks  close  to  the  window  ;  I  had  to 
iS8 


\ 


^ 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


189 


Stoop  below  them  to  see  the  bleak  blade  of  the  sword. 
It  was  plainly  a  costly  thing,  not  made  so  much  for 
service  as  for  distinction  to  the  wearer  ;  a  straight,  nar- 
row, double-edged,  rapier-like  weapon,  which  might 
thrust  well,  though  its  ivory  hilt  and  carven  guard  could 
not  endure  the  clash  of  heavy  combat.  I  took  it  for  a 
sword  of  honor  at  first  glance,  and  fancied  many  ex- 
planations of  its  presence  in  a  pawnbroker's  window — 
one  of  the  most  pathetic  features  of  a  great  city — the 
showplace  of  so  many  mementos  of  despair  ! 

Why  was  the  sword  there  ?  Honor  impawned,  and 
unredeemed  !  The  temptation  to  buy  it  was  on  me, 
who  had  no  need  for  a  sword  nor  even  a  thought  of 
using  it  for  decoration ;  for  how  shall  a  man  joy  in  a 
sword  not  his  own  nor  inherited  from  some  sword-bear- 
ing ancestor  ? 

I  had  no  money  to  spare  for  the  luxury  of  giving 
decent  privacy  to  the  old  sword,  yet  curiosity  concerning 
it  so  grew  in  me  that  I  started  from  suburban  Newton 
to  Boston  one  morning  ten  minutes  earlier  than  usual, 
solely  that  I  might  have  time  to  look  more  particularly 
at  the  weapon.  I  had  as  yet  seen  no  more  of  it  than  I 
could  see  in  passing  rapidly  to  business  or  my  train,  for 
a  man  of  many  jocular  acquaintances  is  not  apt  to 
linger  before  a  pawnbroker's  window  on  Kneeland 
Street  at  the  risk  of  incurring  elaborate  imputations 
that  he  had  been  seen  weeping  before  a  family  treasure 
that  he  has  put  **  up  the  spout.  *  * 


I90 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


When  now  I  stopped,  I  saw  that  the  blade  bore  an 
inscription  too  faint  for  my  naked  eyes  to  read  ;  so  I 
put  on  my  spectacles.  It  was  then  clear  that  the  letters, 
which  occupied  a  space  between  the  hilt  and  the  begin- 
ning of  the  edge-trenches,  were  turned  with  their  backs 
to  me.  The  inscription  must  be  interesting  ;  my  curi- 
osity became  imperative  ;  I  opened  the  pawn-shop 
door  and  confronted  Amminadab,  the  owner  of  the 
sword. 

Amminadab  did  not  move  from  his  high  chair  be- 
hind the  broad  counter,  which  was  partly  enclosed  by 
wire  lattice-work,  but  merely  raised  his  eyes  from  a  tray 
of  rings  at  which  he  had  been  peering,  looked  expec- 
tant, and  remarked,  "Veil?" 

"You  have  a  sword  in  your  window,"  said  I ;  "I 
should  like  to  look  at  it. " 

*  *  You  wandt  to  buy  dot  sword  ?  " 

' '  Possibly.     What' s  the  price  ?  ' ' 

**  Brice  ?  Veil,  I  don't  make  no  brice  for  dot  sword 
yet."  He- spoke  English  as  fluently  as  I,  but  always  as 
if  with  a  bad  cold  in  the  head,  which  affected  his  pro- 
nunciation in  a  much  greater  degree  than  I  shall  try  to 
imitate.  "Maybe  I  don't  sell  dot  sword.  Vat  you 
give  for  him,  hey  ?  " 

"How can  I  tell  without  seeing  the  sword?"  His 
reluctant  manner  surprised  and  annoyed  me. 

"  I  don't  care  about  sell  dot  sword." 

"Hang  it,  man,"  I  said,  "what's  the  use  of  hag- 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


191 


•♦  9 


1 


gling  in  that  way  ?     If  you  think  I'm  going  to  bid  for  it 
without  handling  it,  you're  mistaken.     Let  me  see  the 
sword  if  you  want  to  sell  it. " 
"  But  I  don't  want  to  sell  it." 

*  *  What  do  you  show  it  for,  then  ?  Queer  business  ! 
Suppose  I  offered  you  fifty  dollars  for  it  ?  " 

His  eyes  twinkled.  *  *  I  got  plenty  more  swords — 
not  here.  I  can  let  you  have  a  first-class  sword  for 
fifty  dollars.     You  want  a  first-class  sword,  hey  ?  " 

"Bosh  !  that's  the  sword  in  the  window  I  want,  if 
any.  Fifty  dollars  is  a  good  deal  of  money  for  you  to 
turn  your  nose  up  at !  " 

**I  don't  turn  my  nose  up  at  fifty  dollars,  nor  fifty 
cents,  no,  nor  one  cent ! "  he  said,  as  if  he  felt  him- 
self accused  of  flagrant  sin.  "But — veil  now,  s'elp 
me,  I  don't  like  to  show  dot  sword  close  up.  It's  the 
inscribtion  ;  dot's  what  you  want  to  read,  and  dot's 
just  what  I  don't  like  to  show." 

"Huh  !  you  ought  to  keep  the  sword  out  of  your 
window,  then." 

"  I  keep  dot  sword  in  the  window  because "  he 

stopped  and  pondered.  "  Veil,  it's  none  your  pizness, 
anyvays — unless ' '  he  peered  at  me  with  sudden  sur- 
mise.     "You  know  something  about  dot  sword  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  without  examining  it?  " 

*  *  You  suppose  maybe  you  know  de  cabtain  ?  ' '  He 
spoke  with  great  interest. 

"  Let  me  see  the  sword  and  I'll  tell  you." 


192 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


"  You  was  in  the  big  war  ? ' ' 

"I  was." 

*' Veil,  dot's  good  ;  maybe  you  know  de  cabtain  in 
the  army  ?  " 

"  Maybe — or  in  this  army,"  and  I  displayed  the 
badge  of  my  Post  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Repubhc. 

"Veil,  dot's  so;  but  maybe  you  always  live  in 
Boston?" 

''No;  I've  lived  in  Philadelphia,  New  York,  To- 
ronto, Montreal,  St.  Paul." 

"Huh  !  Veil,  I  don't  suppose  you  get  agvainted 
vid  de  cabtain  in  any  of  dose  places.  Too  bad,  too 
bad  !  I  tell  you,  I  give  fifty  dollars  myself  if  somebody 
dot  used  to  know  de  cabtain  vas  here.  Yes,  s'elp  me, 
I  give  big  money — five  dollars,  anyvays." 

"Where  did  he  live?" 

"  In  California,  after  the  war." 

"Whereabouts?" 

"BlaggCity." 

"  I  never  heard  of  Blagg  City.** 

"  No  ;  dot's  just  it  !  If  there  was  any  Blagg  City 
now  I  could  find  somebody  dot  used  to  know  de  cab- 
tain. But  it's  gone  up  years  ago,  all  off  the  face  of 
the  earth.     It  vas  vun  of  dose  gold  mine  places. '  * 

"  Where  did  he  live  after  that  ?  " 

"Veil,  plenty  places,  I  guess;  but  I  don't  know 
none  except  Boston,  and  I  can't  find  anybody  in 
Boston  dot  knowed  him  before." 


THE  SWORD  OF   HONOR 


193 


"That's  queer.  Why  do  you  want  to  find  some  one 
that  knew  him  before  ?  ' ' 

"Veil,  s'elp  me  Moses,  if  you  could  see  the  cab- 
tain's  daughter  you'd  want  to  find  somebody  to  help 
her  yourself ! ' '     Amminadab  spoke  with  such  emotion 
that  I  felt  myself  quite  drawn  to  him. 
**  Does  she  live  here  ?  " 

"Live  !  Veil,  you  might  call  it  living.  She  sews, 
poor  child — ^ach,  it's  the  pity  of  the  world  ! — she  vorks 
in  a  sveatshop.  It's  Jacob  Lowenthal  she  vorks  for. 
Come — you  vas  a  soldier  in  dot  big  war ;  de  cabtain 
vas  a  soldier  ;  I'll  show  you  dot  sword,  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  I  knows  about  it.  Who  can  tell?  maybe  you'll  help 
her  out  of  dot  sveatshop.  I  done  all  I  can — maybe 
you  think  the  profit  is  big  in  my  pizness?  Veil,  there's 
no  profit,  not  to  speak  of — ^anyvays  she  von't  be  helped 
by  me.     Here,  read  what  dot  sword  says. ' ' 

He  had  stooped  through  the  yellow  silks  that  hid  the 
window,  and  now  held  the  blade  cautiously  in  his  two 
hands. 

I  took  the  beautiful  sword,  in  which  the  inscription 
lay  almost  as  indistinctly  as  a  watermark  lies  in  writing- 
paper. 

Independence  Day,  1867. 

This  sword  of  honor  is  presented  to 

Captain  Horatio  Polk  Blagg 

by  the  inhabitants  of  Blagg  City,  California, 

to  replace  his  veteran  sword  destroyed  by  the 

recent  fire, 

N 


'  '  '  •' 


194  THE   SWORD    OF    HONOR 

*  and  in  token  of  their  admiration  for  his  glorious 

record  of  valor  in 

The  Army  of  Virginia, 

as  well  as  their  profound  esteem  for  his  character 

as  a  Gentleman  and  his  services  on  the  late 

'  Vigilance  Committee. 


,    \^ 


\     '    ' 


**  The  Army  of  Virginia  !  "  said  I.  "Why,  he  was 
a  Confederate." 

**  Confederate,"  s£fld  Amminadab,  an  immigrant 
since  the  war  ;  •*  what's  Confederate  ?  " 

**  A  rebel ;  a  Southern  captain." 

"The  cabtain  was  on  the  rebel  side ? " 

"Yes,  certainly.  General  Lee's  army  was  called 
the  Army  of  Virginia  ;  our  army  against  him  was  called 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac." 

"Veil,  -s'elp  me  !  and  I  spend  more  as  fifty  cents  in 
postage  and  paper  to  the  war  department  and  the  pen- 
sion agents,  trying  to  get  a  pension  for  dot  child  !  The 
government  don't  give  pensions  to  the  children  of  rebel 
soldiers,  hey?" 

"  No.  But  tell  me  about  the  captain.  We  may  be 
able  to  find  some  relatives  of  his  in  the  South,  yet." 

"  Rachel  !  "  he  called  loudly  ;  and  in  came  a  hand- 
some, fat,  untidy  young  woman  through  the  door  from 
the  back  shop.  "  Rachel,  you  vait  here,  if  you  please. 
I  vant  to  tell  this  gentleman  about  the  cabtain.  Maybe 
he  can  find  out  how  to  help  dot  child  ;  he  vas  a  soldier 
himself.      But  hold  on — you  vas  on  the  other  side." 


(  ' 


fi 


.  \^ 


■■■^■j ' 


THE   SWORD   OF    HONOR 


195 


' '  That' s  all  right, ' '  I  said.  ♦  *  North  and  South  are  all 
one  now.  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  anything  I  can  to  help 
the  captain  or  his  daughter." 

**  Ach,  but  that's  the  sad  story,"  said  Rachel.  "  It 
was  one  day  I  was  waiting  in  the  shop  for  Amminadab  ; 
he'd " 

**ril  tell  dot  story  myself,  if  you  please,"  said 
Amminadab  sharply,  and  drew  me  hastily  into  the 
back  shop,  a  storeroom  for  dingy  pledges  and  a  place 
to  which  customers  were  brought  for  private  bargain- 
ing. 

Amminadab  gave  me  a  chair,  took  another  himself, 
and  as  if  compelled  by  the  genius  of  that  room  to  whis- 
per hoarsely  as  in  bargaining,  thrust  his  face  near  mine, 
and  began : 

"It  vas  so,  just  as  Rachel  vas  telling.  Von  day  I 
vas  looking  at  some  chewels  in  here,  and  Rachel 
opened  dot  door  and  said,  *  Pizness,  Amminadab '  ;  so 
I  come  out  into  the  shop.  There  stood  an  old,  tall 
man.  His  hair  vas  very  white  and  long,  and  he  car- 
ried something  under  t:ie  long  cloak  dot  covered  his 
arms.  So  I  just  said,  *  Veil  ? '  At  dot  he  kind  of 
flushed  and  catched  at  vat  he  had  under  his  cloak,  and 
he  looked  so  grand  and  so  kind  of  sorry  too,  dot  I  vas 
kind  of  ashamed  I  hadn't  spoke  kinder  ;  so  I  said, 
*  Maybe  you  vas  vanting  to  buy  something  you  saw  in 
dot  vindow,  sir  ?  ' 

***No — no — not  that,'  he  said,  very  nervous.      'I 


196 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


came  in  because '  and  he  stopped,  as  if  he  vas  too 

sorry  or  ashamed. 

**Then  Rachel  said,  *  Any  gentleman  may  be  stuck 
for  money  now  and  then  these  hard  times. '  Dot  woman 
of  mine  has  got  the  kindest  heart ;  she'd  broke  down 
my  pizness  in  two  veeks  if  I  don't  mind  out !  *You 
go  away,  Rachel,'  I  said;  'I'm  doing  pizness  here. ' 
And  so  she  come  in  back  here,  and  some  ways  the  old 
gentleman  don't  seem  he  vas  feel  so  ashamed  ven  there 
was  no  woman  to  be  pitying  him. 

**  *  I  do  want  to  raise  some  money,'  he  said.  *  Not 
for  long — ^it  can't  be  for  long.     I  will  pay  you  soon.' 

"  'Dot's  all  right,  sir,'  I  told  him.  'I  don't  lend 
money  except  on  goods,  and  so  I  keep  my  security  all 
right.' 

"He  flushed  up  again.  *I  give  you  my  word,'  he 
said. 

**  'All  right,  sir;  all  right.  I  prefer  to  deal  with  a 
gentleman  of  his  word  ;  but  it's  pizness  to  look  at  the 
goods.     You  got  something  there,  sir? ' 

**  He  fumbled  at  his  cloak,  and  drew  out  something 
narrow  in  a  long,  black  oilcloth  bag.  '  'It's  my  sword,' 
he  said ;  and  he  looked  hard  at  the  street  door,  and 
said,  *  I  suppose  some  one  may  come  in  at  any  moment. 
Have  you  no  private  place  ? '  So  I  said,  '  Please  come 
in  here,  sir.  *    And  Rachel  went  back  to  mind  the  shop. 

"I  offered  him  a  chair,  but  he  wouldn't  sit  down. 
He  stood  right  there  and  pulled  the  string  at  the  end  of 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


197 


the  bag,  and  drew  out  dot  sword  so  careful  as  it  vas  a 
baby.  Then  some  ways,  with  a  quick  motion,  he 
wrapped  the  bag  around  his  wrist,  and  his  left  hand  vas 
on  the  scabbard  and  his  right  vas  on  the  hilt,  and  he 
stood  up  very  straight,  and  out  flashed  dot  sword  so 
quick  I  jumped  up  with  my  two  hands  out  before  me 
Hke  dot.  I  don't  like  the  vay  dot  sword  flash,  anyhow. 
But  I  know  swords  like  I  know  everything,  and  it  vas 
easy  to  see  dot  sword  cost  a  big  lot  more  money  than 
anybody  would  ever  give  for  it  again. 

*'  He  handed  me  the  scabbard,  and  I  looked  at  it ; 
he  don't  seem  like  he  want  me  to  handle  the  sword ; 
and  fact  is,  I  don't  care  about  handling  sharp  swords, 
anyvays.  So  he  laid  it  down  on  dot  table  and  I  looked 
at  it  and  turned  it  over,  and  put  down  my  head  and 
read  dot  inscribtion.  His  face  vas  vorking  very  miser- 
able as  I  read  it,  and  he  gave  two  or  three  little  coughs. 

"  'It's  the  last  thing  in  the  world  I  would  borrow 
on,'  he  said ;  'and  indeed  it's  the  last  thing  I've  got 
left  of  any  value.     But  I  must  have  money  to-day.' 

"  *  Vas  you  expecting  to  borrow  on  dot  sword,  sir?  " 

"'Why,  of  course.'  And  I  heard  him  visper  to 
himself,  '  My  God,  my  God,  that  I  should  be  brought 
to  this!' 

"  '  Veil,  sir,  dot  sword  is  a  good  sword  ;  but  there's 
no  kind  of  security  in  a  sword.' 

"'What,  you  can't  lend  on  it?  It's  a  valuable 
sword  ;  it  cost '  and  he  stopped,  as  if  ashamed. 


198 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


"  '  How  much  was  you  wanting? '  I  asked. 

**  *  As  much  as  possible.  I  will  certainly  pay  it  back. 
I  couldn't  lose  my  sword.  Ah,  it  can't  be  but  I  shall 
get  some  better  employment,'  to  himself,  you  under- 
stand. 

**  *  I  might  advance  five  dollars  on  it,'  I  said. 

"  *Five  dollars  !  Five  dollars  !  Oh,  dear  heaven  ! 
Why,  the  sword  is  worth '  and  he  stopped  again. 

** '  Dot  sword  don't  cost  no  less  than  one  hundred 
dollars,'  I  said.  'Dot  ivory  is  carved  very  fine,  and 
dot  blade  is  Toledo  inlaid  with  gold.  But  s'elp  me, 
sir,  it  ain't  salable  one  bit,  and  I  can't  make  use  of  it 
in  my  family.  Five  dollars;  s'elp  me,  I  can't  do 
better. ' 

"Veil,  he  gave  a  cry  out,  and  stared  at  me  so  hard 
I  vas  scared.     Then  he  kind  of  vispered  to  himself, 
*  It  may  save  her  life.     Five  dollars — it  will  buy  the 
medicine  and  wine.     I'll  have  to  take  your  offer.     Of 
course  you'll  not  put  my  sword  in  your  window?  ' 

**  *  No,  sir  J  not  as  lohg  as  the  ticket  runs,'  I  said. 
And  I  made  him  out  the  ticket  and  gave  him  the 
money,  and  he  turned  away  as  if  he  vas  in  a  dream  of 
sorrow.  Just  outside  the  street  door  he  stopped,  and 
he  clutched  at  the  left  side  of  his  cloak  as  if  he  had  lost 
something  ;  and  I  guess  it  vas  that  he  missed  the  sword, 
and  at  that  he  looked  just  dreadful,  and  he  went  totter- 
ing avay,  bowed  down,  amongst  the  stream  of  peoples. 
And  dot's  the  first  and  last  time  I  ever  see  the  cabtain. 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


199 


*  *  Veil,  sir,  I  put  avay  the  sword  in  its  bag,  and  I  told 
Rachel,  '  My  five  dollars  is  gone.  I'm  a  fool  for  pizness. 
I  vas  crazy  to  lend  five  dollars  on  dot  sword.     Dot  old 


cabtain  is  going  to  die 
before  long.  But  Ra- 
chel cheered  me  up 
about  it.  '  Oh,  you'll 
rent  it  out  to  students 
for  fancy  dress,'  she 
said,  and  so  I  felt  bet- 
ter. 

"  Veil,  two  months 
went  by — the  ticket  had  three  months  to  run — and 
two  weeks  more  went  by,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  my 
five  dollars  vas  gone,  when  in  came  a  small,  little,  fair- 


\\ 


200 


THE  SWORD  OF  HONOR 


haired  girl  and  laid  dot  ticket  on  the  counter.  She 
was  maybe  about  seventeen,  but  little  and  in  shabby 
black,  and  lean  and  pale  as  starvation  ;  and  ach  1  but 
her  blue  eyes  vas  sorry !  It's  too  much  misery  I  see 
in  the  faces  that  come  here  for  me  to  notice  misery 
much ;  but  dot  young  girl's  face  vas  like  a  seraph 
what's  got  it's  heart  broke  somevays.  And  she  looks 
at  me  so  sad,  and  she  says,  'You've  got  my  father's 
sword,'  and  sure  enough,  it  vas  the  ticket  I  gave  the 
cabtain. 

"  Was  your  father  wishing  to  get  out  his  sword? "  I 
asked. 

"  'My  father  is  dead,'  she  said,  just  like  a  marble 
angel  might  visper.  *  Father  died  three  weeks  ago,  and 
I  found  that  iicket  in  his  pocketbook.  I  want  to  know 
if  I  can  get  more  time  to  pay  back  the  money.  I  can 
only  pay  two  dollars  now. ' 

'"I'm  afraid  you  need  the  money  more  as  dot 
sword,'  I  said. 

"  'Oh,  no,  no  !  I  couldn't  bear  to  live  and  think 
my  father's  sword  of  honor  was  sold  away  so  I  could 
never  get  it,'  and  her  lip  began  to  tremble  and  she 
looked  at  me,  trying  so  hard  to  keep  her  face  brave 
dot  Rachel — Rachel  vas  standing  beside  me  all  de 
time — Rachel  slipped  around  the  counter  and  stood 
beside  her,  and  began  to  pat  .her  hand — she  was  such 
a  young  girl  to  be  so  sad !  And  with  that  the  old 
cabtain' s  daughter  broke  right  down  and  began  to  cry 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


20 1 


and  cry,  and  Rachel  just  picked  her  up  in  her  arms  like 
she  was  a  baby,  and  carried  her  in  here.  Veil,  dot's 
all  right  for  Rachel ;  but  pizness  is  pizness,  and  I  vas 
afraid  I'd  be  foolish  about  money  if  I  come  in  and  see 
dot  young  girl  cry  some  more.  I  could  hear  through 
the  open  door,  and  Rachel  Was  saying,  'You'll  take 
the  sword  with  you.  I've  got  my  own  money — I'll 
settle  with  Amminadab  myself.  He's  just  got  to  do 
his  business  on  business  principles. ' 

"  *Oh,  but  you're  good  and  kind,'  I  could  hear  the 
girl  visper;  'but  I  couldn't  take  it  back  in  that  way, 
there  would  seem  to  be  a  stain  on  the  sword.' 

**  *Ach,  now,  now  ! '  says  Rachel.      'What  for? ' 

"  '  My  father  engaged  to  pay  back  the  money,  and 
— and  I  couldn't  take  charity;  you  mustn't  be  vexed 
— you're  so  kind  to  me.  But  if  you'd  ask  him  to  give 
me  more  time.  I've  worked  hard  and  I've  saved  these 
two  dollars  since  poor  father  was  taken  away.  I  could 
save  three  more,  I'm  sure,  if  Mr.  Solomons  would  give 
me  three  months  more. ' 

'*  'You've  been  starving  yourself,  my  child,'  Rachel 
said.  'You're  all  gone  away  to  a  shadow.  Have  you 
no  one  to  help  you  ? ' 

'"No  one  in  all  the  world.  My  father  was  a 
gentleman,  and  when  we  got  so  poor  he  got  out  of  the 
way  of  having  friends — poor  father  !  And  so  there 
seemed  to  be  no  place  for  him  anywhere,  and  at  last 
he  came  to  Boston,  and  now  it's  all  at  an  end.' 


202 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


'"It  was  such  hard  times  in  Boston  last  year,'  said 
my  Rachel. 

**  *  Yes.  Oh,  so  bitter  hard  !  Father  was  ready  to 
do  anything — he  was  peddling  books  at  last— and  I  got 
a  Uttle  sewing  ;  but  then  I  took  sick  and  all  the  burden 
was  on  poor  old  father.  It  was  when  I  was  sick  that 
he  brought  his  sword  here,  and  that  was  the  last  thing 
he  would  have  parted  with,  except  me.  He  bought 
things  for  me  with  it,  and  I  know  now  he  just  starved 
himself.'  She  stopped,  and  I  could  hear  her  sobs. 
*  So  I  had  scarcely  got  well  again  before  he  was  down 
sick — and — oh,  it's  all,  all  ended  now — poor  father  ! 
He  never  told  what  he  had  done  with  his  sword,  and 
I  was  afraid  to  distress  him  if  I  asked  him.  But  he 
valued  it  more  than  his  life  ;  and  indeed  I  couldn't  live 
and  not  get  it !  And,  oh,  if  your  husband  will  give 
me  three  months  longer  !  * 

"So  I  opened  dot  door,  and  I  said,  *I  will  keep  it 
three  months  or  three  years,  if  you  like,'  and  the  end 
of  that  talk  vas  that  I  made  her  out  a  new  ticket  for 
the  three  dollars.     Dot  vas  all  right,  hey  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  said  I.  "I  don't  see  what  more  you 
could  do,  as  she  wouldn't  take  help.  And  has  she 
never  been  able  to  pay  the  money  ?  " 

"Not  von  cent!  At  last  she  come  and  told  my 
wife,  *  I  try,  oh,  Mrs.  Solomons,  I  try  so  hard — but  I 
can't  save  one  quarter-dollar  in  all  this  time  !'  And  it 
vas  then  I  found  out  she  vas  vorking  in  Lowenthal's^ 


THE  SWOKD   OF    HONOR 


203 


sveatshop.  And  there  she  is  vorking  now ;  and  every 
day  I'm  afraid  she'll  come  and  find  dot  sword  in  my 
window.  I've  been  showing  it  in  hopes  somebody  will 
see  it  that  knew  the  cabtain. ' ' 

"Can't  you  get  her  to  tell  you  the  names  of  some 
friends  or  relations  ? ' ' 

"No — not  one  word.  I  guess  there's  some  secrets. 
But  I  was  trying  to  fmd  out  myself,  and  like  von  big 
fool  I  never  even  found  out  that  the  cabtain  was  a 
Southerner." 

"We  must  see  if  anything  can  be  done  to  help 
her,"  I  said.  "At  least  she  ought  to  have  her  father's 
sword.  Here's  three  dollars ;  you  take  the  sword  to 
her  and  tell  her  that  an  old  soldier  who  respects  her 
father's  memory  sends  it  to  her. " 

"Veil,  yes,  I  might  try  that.  But  if  she  would  take 
it  from  somebody  dot  respects  the  cabtain' s  memory, 
she'd  take  it  from  Rachel  or  me." 

"Try  it,  anyway,"  and  I  pressed  the  money  on 
him. 

"Veil,"  he  said,  looking  over  the  money,  "pizness 
is  pizness,  and  if  I'm  going  to  call  myself  paid,  I've 
got  a  right  to  the  interest." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  I  said,  amazed;  for  I  did 
not  doubt  and  don't  doubt  now  that  he  was  ready  to 
give  up  his  entire  claim  as  a  matter  of  kindness.  But 
if  he  was  to  call  himself  paid  off,  why — "pizness  !" 
and  I  paid  him  the  interest. 


204 


THE  SWORD   OF   HONOR 


That  was  on  Saturday.  On  Monday  I  went  into  the 
pawnshop  again. 

"Veil,  vat  you  think ?**  ejaculated  Amniinadab, 
spreading  both  hands,  palms  up,  when  he  saw  me. 
'  <  She  took  dot  sword  all  right !  And  she  said,  '  God 
bless  you!'  Now  how  vas  dot?  She  took  it  from 
you,  and  she  wouldn't  take  it  from  me  !" 

"Partly  because  you  told  her  I  was  an  old  soldier, 
and  partly  because  you  and  your  wife  have  been  so 
good  to  her  that  she  didn't  wish  to  cost  you  money  be- 
sides," I  suggested. 

"Ach,  no.  She  don't  like  to  take  nodings  from  a 
Jew— dot's  it.  Veil,  no  matter,  I  bury  dot  poor,  good 
young  girl  at  my  own  exbense  some  of  these  days. 
She  is  working  her  life  out  just  to  live  ! " . 

"Sad  she  can't  get  better  employment?" 

*  *  Embloyment ! — a  total  stranger  in  Boston  ! — and 
she  that  would  be  just  rags  if  she  vasn't  so  neat! 
Don' 1 1  tell  you  before  that  she  sold  every  bit  of  her 
clo'es,  except  what  she  stood  in,  to  bury  the  old  cab- 
tain?  Her  clo'es  is  so  shabby  she  can't  get  good  vork 
— and  besides,  ain't  Boston  got  plenty  of  girls  looking 
for  good  vork,  and  ain't  plenty  of  'em  starving?  No, 
she  can't  get  better  employment  unless  somebody  gets 
it  for  her.  For  me,  all  I  can  do  is  get  her  vork  in  some 
sveatshop  maybe  no  better  than  Lowenthal's." 


Well,  last  week  a  pale   young  girl,   starting  from 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


205 


Boston  on  a  train  bound  for  Gloucester,  said,  as  a 
Newton  lady  kissed  her  good-bye:  "Oh,  you've  all 
been  so  kind  to  me  !  May  God  bless  you  all,  and  bless 
the  Grand  Army  forever." 

I  had  done  no  more  than  to  introduce  the  case  to  my 
post  of  the  Grand  Army.  They  put  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  and  left  the  diplomacy  to  the  Newton 
lady.  She  called  on  Miss  Blagg  at  the  sweatshop,  and 
the  outcome  was  that  the  young  lady  was  provided 
with  a  good  situation  not  far  from  Gloucester,  as  gov- 
erness to  young  children  in  an  excellent  family.  The 
outfit  for  our  Post's  adopted  daughter  would  have  been 
unreasonably  sumptuous,  had  she  not  vetoed  our  de- 
signs in  large  part.  Of  Miss  Blagg' s  family  and  per- 
sonal history  we  were  fully  informed  ;  but  it  would  be 
improper  to  tell  you  the  reasons  she  and  her  father  had 
against  seeking  aid  from,  his  relatives  in  the  South. 

When  she  had  left  us  I  went  in  to  tell  Amminadab, 
but  he  smiled  immensely  at  my  assumption  that  he 
needed  any  information  in  the  case. 

"  Veil,  you  don't  imagine  that  the  cabtain's  daughter 
don't  say  good-bye  to  us  !  Boh  !  she  come  in  here 
yesterday  on  purpose.  And  she  cried  ven  she  vas 
telling  about  how  good  the  Grand  Army  was  to  a 
Southern  soldier's  daughter  ;  and  she  said  it  was  such 
a  noble-hearted  kindness  that  she  couldn't  have  any 
right  to  refuse.  And  she  said  about  you,  *  God  bless 
you  and  God  bless  the  Grand  Army. ' ' ' 


206 


THE  SWORD   OF    HONOR 


"That's  not  all,"  said  Rachel;  "the  captain's 
daughter  kissed  nu  I  And  she  said,  '  God  bless  Am- 
minadab  ;  and  she  said  she'd  never  forget  how  kind  we 
were  to  her,  and ' ' 

"Oh,  don't,  now,  Rachel — dot's  enough.  The 
young  lady  vas  egcited,  and  she  said  too  much  about 
us.  But  I  vas  glad  she  said,  '  God  bless  Mr.  Solo- 
mons.' Dot's  all  clear  profit — she  never  cost  me  von 
cent!" 


AN  ADVENTURE  uN  THE 
ST.  LAWRENCE 


LAST  summer,  in  the  clubhouse  of  the  Kenoutche- 
wan  Bait-fishers,  a  well-known  Canadian  lawyer 
told  the  following  story  : 


v% 


Some  years  ago,  while  out  for  an  afternoon's  fishing 
with  my  son  Harry,  who  was  then  ten  years  old,  1 
anchored  our  skiff  off  the  northeast  or  lower  end  of 
Gomeguk  Island,  where  one  division  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
runs  in  a  deep  groove,  much  frequented  by  channel  cat- 
fish. 

Steamers  seldom  passed  through  the  channel  where  we 
floated,  though  the  wash  of  upward  bound  boats  dis- 
turbs the  surface  slightly  as  they  swing  half-around, 
about  three  hundred  yards  down  river,  to  enter  the 
southern  and  straighter,  though  shallower,  channel, 
which  most  pilots  prefer. 

Harry  found  the  occasional   rocking  by  steamboat 

waves  a  pleasant  variation  from  the  scarcely  perceptible 

motion  with  which  we  drifted — only  one  of  our  fifty-six 

pound  weights  being  out  as  a  bow  anchor — against  the 

gentle  current,   under  the   pressure   of  a  breeze   up 

207 


208   AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE 


stream.  The  sharp  stern  of  the  skifif  floated  free  and 
riding  with  forty  feet  of  line  out  she  swayed  from  side 
to  side  of  the  deep  water,  which  never  furnished  me 
with  better  sport  than  on  that  day. 

The  big,  dun-backed,  yellow-bellied,  strong,  clean, 
tentacled  fish  took  my  minnows  eagerly,  and  fought  in 
a  highly  satisfactory  manner  for  their  own  lives.  So  it 
went  on,  till  Harry,  who  had  come  out  with  emphatic 
asseverations  that  he  would  gladly  fish  till  midnight, 
disclosed  a  keener  enthusiasm  for  something  to  eat 
about  tea  time  than  he  did  about  the  fish  I  was  catch- 
ing, and  often  inquired  anxiously  when  I  intended 
going  home. 

I  lingered,  however,  for  "just  one  more  bite," — 
taking  four  fish  by  the  delay, — till  the  sun  sank  slowly 
behind  the  island.  Then  glancing  under  my  eyebrows 
at  Harry  while  stooping  to  impale  a  new  minnow,  his 
woe-begone  little  face  gave  me  a  distinct  thrill  of  com- 
punction and  flinging  away  the  bait  I  said  :  Well,  small 
boys  mustri't  be  made  too  hungry,  I  suppose.  We 
will  go  home  now,  Harry." 

I  was  rather  astonished  that  his  face,  which  had 
brightened  with  my  words,  suddenly  clouded,  as  he 
looked  keenly  down  river.  Then  the  explanation 
came. 

**Oh,  there's  another  steamboat  coming  up,  father  ! " 
he  exclaimed.  *  *  Do  stay  a  little  longer  !  I  wish  you 
would  stay  till  we  get  her  swell" 


.-  u 


AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE   209 


It  was  to  me  a  striking  illustration  of  how  curiously 
and  wonderfully  boys  are  made.  Here  was  a  lad  too 
hungry  to  enjoy  the  deep  and  philosophic  pleasure  of 
fishing,  but  not  hungry  enough  to  forego  an  absurd  de- 
light in  being  rocked  by  half  a  dozen  steamboat  rollers. 
However,  his  request  coincided  with  my  inclination, 
and  putting  on  a  new  bait  I  engaged  again  in  the  most 
fascinating  of  pastimes. 

I  sat  in  the  bow,  with  my  face  up  stream,  Harry 
watching,  with  big  eyes,  the  oncoming  steamer,  the 
intermittent  rumble  of  whose  paddle-wheel  became 
momentarily  more  distinct,  till  the  slap  and  thrust  of 
each  float  could  be  heard  close  behind.  Suddenly  my 
little  boy  jumped  up  and  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  much 
surprise  : 

"Why,  father,  look  at  the  steamboat !" 

I  turned  to  see  in  the  twilight  the  big,  white  **The- 
ban,"  not  three  hundred  yards  distant,  not  swinging 
into  the  south  channel,  but  coming,  at  about  half  speed, 
straight  at  where  we  lay  ! 

Dazed,  I  sat  silent  a  moment,  then  roared  at  her, 
"Ahoy,  'Theban,'  ahoy  !  "  with  all  my  power  of  lung, 
searching  my  pockets  at  the  same  time  for  my  clasp- 
knife  to  cut  the  anchor  rope.  There  was  no  time  to 
haul  in  the  weight ;  to  cut  away  was  the  only  chance  of 
escape. 

The  channel  of  the    river,  as  I  knew  well,  was  too 

narrow  for  the   big   boat  to  give   us  more  than    the 

o 


■J* 


2IO   AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE 

narrowest  berth,  and  there  was  no  sign  that  her  pilot 
intended  to  yield  us  any.  I  could  see  him  dimly  in 
the  wheel-house,  and,  apparently,  not  another  soul  was 
on  board.  ,  ■    .._ 

She  did  not  slow  down  in  the  least,  though  I  con- 
tinued to  yell  madly.  The  roar  of  her  paddle-wheels 
was  terribly  loud.  ,.  . 

Harry's  childish  treble  shrieked  through  my  hoarse 
shouts,  but  there  was  no  sign  that  we  were  seen  or 
heard.  Yet  it  was  impossible  to  believe  the  pilot 
to  be  unaware  of  the  boat  in  his  course,  lead  colored 
though  it  was,  and  deep  as  were  the  shadows  of  the 
island. 

On  she  came,  during  the  few  seconds  while  these 
observations  went   through   my  mind,  straight  at  us. . 
The  swamping  of  our  skiff  in  the  steamer's   roll  was 
certain  now,  even  should   she   sheer  off  as   much  as  , 
possible  in  passing — certain,  even  if  we  had  been  sud- 
denly freed  from  the  anchor  line. 

I  had  passed  it  through  the  ring  of  the  painter 
before  the  bow,  and  secured  it  to  the  seat.  This 
fastening  I  tore  away  with  one  jerk,  but  there  were  fifty 
feet  more  rope  in  the  coil  lying  at  my  feet.  To  run 
that  out  through  the  ring  would  require  more  time 
than  we  had,  and  to  row  off  rapidly  with  the  rope 
dragging  across  our  bow  was  impossible,  even  though 
many  minutes  had  been  to  spare. 

Feeling  very  helpless  and  desperate,  I  went  through 


\\ 


i-i 


\\ 


AN    ADVENTURE   ON    THE  ST.  LAWRENCE       211 


igh 


all  my  pockets  for  the  knife,  till  it  flashed  on  me  that, 
some  time  before,  it  had  dropped  from  the  gunwale  in 
which  I  had  stuck  it,  and  was  now  lying  out  of  reach 
under  the  footboard. 

Harry  now  began  to  cry  loudly,  calling,  **Oh,  what 
will  mother  do?"  ,, 

The  undulation  that  precedes  a  large  steamer  rocked 
us.  Raising  my  eyes  from  a  vain  endeavor  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  knife,  the  steamer  seemed  almost  upon 
us.  I  never  saw  a  vessel  shoulder  up  so  monstrously  at 
the  distance  !  So  close  was  she,  that  in  the  twilight  I 
could  clearly  see  the  red  paint  of  her  run  gleaming  in 
the  water  about  her. 

With  the  quick  device  and  lightning  activity  of  de- 
spair I  seized  an  oar  and,  kneeling  on  the  bow,  with 
one  downward  drive  of  its-  handle  knocked  the  staple 
that  secured  the  ring  clear  away,  and  with  another 
motion  flung  out  the  coil  of  rope  into  the  water. 

But  the  bowsprit  of  the  *  *  Theban ' '  was  not  five  sec- 
onds away  then.  I  struggled  madly  to  get  some  head- 
way, hoping  to  escape  the  paddle-wheels,  but  my  poor 
little  boy,  wild  with  fear,  impeded  me  by  clinging 
about  my  legs.  Using  all  my  force  on  the  oar  as 
a  paddle,  I  did,  however,  manage  to  give  her  a 
slight  motion  up  stream,  stern  first,  but  too  late  ; 
the  next  moment  the  figurehead  and  swelling  bow 
of  the  ** Theban"  blotted  out  the  sky,  and  she  was 
upon  us. 


II:' 


212   AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE 

Not  with  her  cut-water,  fortunately,  or  we  should 
have  been  instantly  smashed  down ;  it  ran  out  twenty 
feet  beyond  us  before  we  were  touched.  Had  she  not 
been  half  slowed  down  to  take  the  windings  of  the 
channel,  we  should  doubtless  have  been  overwhelmed 
by  the  roll  of  water  from  her  bow ;  but  somehow  the 
skiff  rode  this,  and  the  next  moment  was  thrust  against 
the  river  and  crowded  so  hard  against  the  steamer 
where  she  widened  that  we  moved  on  as  if  glued  to 
her  side. 

Obviously,  this  strange  situation  could  endure  but 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  my  little  fellow  and  I 
must  be  drawn  under  and  battered  to  pulp  with  the  re- 
morseless crash  of  the  paddle-wheel  so  terrible  and  so 
near. 

To  leap  far  enough  out  for  escape  from  them  was 
impossible.  I  had  clasped  Harry  in  my  arms  with 
some  unreasonable  imagination  that  my  interposing 
body  might  save  him  from  the  crushing  blows  of  the 
floats.  The  hope  to  sink  beneath  them  did  not  flash 
among  the  first  crowding  thoughts  of  those  despairing 
moments,  not  till  my  glance  fell  on  the  fifty-six  weight 
that  still  lay  in  the  boat. 

Instantly  I  stooped,  seized  it  with  my  right  hand, 
and,  with  my  little  boy  close  hugged,  leaped  desper- 
ately from  the  boat  into  the  water. 

The  sensation  of  being  sucked  or  trailed  through  an 
amazing  current,  the  roar  of  the  battered  water,  the 


\\ 


I    -' 


iv 


AN    ADVENTURE   ON    THE   ST.   LAWRENCE      213 


overpowering  fear  of  the  cruel  paddles, — how  well  I 
remember !  Suddenly — it  was  as  though  a  wave  had 
flung  its  mass  at  me — my  legs  were  swept  down  with 
the  water  driven  from  the  impact  of  the  floats,  my  hold 
was  nearly  jerked  from  the  fifty-six  pounds  of  weight 
that  I  held,  then  down,  down,  down  until  the  weight 
touched  the  rocky  bed.  I  let  go  and  rose  through 
twenty  feet  of  water  with  a  gasp,  to  see  the  "Theban" 
roaring  away  steadily  on  her  course. 

Poor  little  Harry  had  never  ceased  struggling ;  he 
struggled  more  violently  as  now  he  caught  a  half- 
choked  breath.  I  tore  his  arms  from  my  neck  with 
a  desperate  motion  as  we  began  to  sink  again,  and 
turned  his  back  to  me.  We  rose  again,  treading  water. 
I  managed  to  support  his  head  out  of  the  water  long 
enough  to  make  him  understand  that  he  must  be- 
come perfectly  motionless  if  he  wished  me  to  save 
him. 

The  poor  little  man  behaved  splendidly  after  that, 
but  by  several  slight  immersions  had  lost  his  senses  in  a 
half-drowned  faint  before  I  managed  to  get  ashore.  I 
had,  however,  no  great  difficulty  in  restoring  him. 
Fortunately  there  was  a  house  on  the  Island,  and  there 
we  spent  the  night. 

You  may  be  sure  that  I  lost  no  time  in  investigating 
the  conduct  of  the  *  *  Theban'  s ' '  pilot.  The  man  denied 
all  knowledge  of  the  occurrence,  and  I  could  see  that 
he  was  really  surprised  and  shocked ;  but  that  he  felt 


214   AN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE 


in  some  degree  guilty  I  could  also  perceive.  Not  one 
of  the  deck-hands,  none  of  the  officers,  would  confess 
any  knowledge  in  the  matter,  and  not  till  the  cross- 
examination  of  the  crew  on  my  suit  for  damages  against 
the  steamboat  company  did  the  truth  come  out.  Then 
a  clean  breast  was  made. 

The  pilot  had  secretly  brought  a  jug  of  whisky 
aboard,  and  while  the  captain  was  below  at  his  tea,  the 
mate  and  the  whole  watch,  defying  all  the  rules  of  the 
company's  service,  had  taken  occasion  to  finish  the 
liquor.  As  for  the  pilot,  he  explained  that  he  had 
been  "too  drunk  to  do  more'n  steer,  sir,  and  could 
jest  on'y  see  my  landmarks.  I  took  the  north 
channel,"  he  concluded,  "because  I  wanted  folks  to 
know  that  I  was  puffickly  sober." 


TOLD  ON  A  PULLMAN 


"  T~\ON'T  take  it,  did  you  say?     Well,  I'm  glad  I 

J--'  can  say  that  I  can  take  it  or  leave  it,  as  I 
please,"  and  the  young  fellow  who  had  invited  his 
traveling  acquaintance  to  drink,  screwed  the  flask's 
cover  down,  fitted  on  its  drinking  cup,  and  replaced  it 
in  his  pocket.  **I  always  carry  a  little  of  the  right  sort, 
A  I,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  superior  worldliness. 
"Are  you  a  teetotaller,  sir?  " 

**I  don't  like  the  word  'teetotaller,*  but  I  never 
drink.     I  dare  not,"  repeated  the  older  man. 

On  flew  the  train,  the  car  swaying,  the  rattle  becom- 
ing a  roar  when  the  door  opened,  the  stillness  at 
stopping  places  emphasized  by  the  sough  of  high  wind 
and  the  beating  of  rain.  Still  neither  of  the  men  left 
the  smoking  compartment  of  the  Pullman  car.  The 
younger  traveler  became  absorbed  in  a  bundle  of  formal- 
looking  letters,  over  which  he  smoked  a  cigar  before 
speaking  again. 

"It  must  be  late,"  he  said,  looking  up.  "What! 
After  eleven  o'clock?  Well,  I'll  have  another  taste 
and  go  to  my  berth.  You're  about  the  most  silent 
companion  I've  fallen  in  with,  sir.      Every  time   I've 

215 


2l6 


TOLD   ON    A    PULLMAN 


looked  up  for  two  hours  I  have  observed  you  looking 
at  me  seriously.     See  anything  wrong?" 

**  I  have  been  wondering  what  your  alert  face  will  be 
like  in  ten  years." 

**A  regular  sober-sides  face,  you  may  depend  on 
that.     Full  of  business — that's  what  Pm  going  in  for." 

* '  Well,  I  hope  it  may  be.  Somehow  I  find  myself 
taking  an  extraordinary  interest  in  the  question.  If 
you  will  permit  me,  I'll  tell  you  why." 

"Teetotal  story,  sir?"  said  the  young  man  banter- 
ingly. 

''You  might  call  it  that." 

* '  I  guess  I  must  have  heard  it  already.  Teetotal 
stories  are  mighty  stale. '  * 

* '  Degradation  through  drink  is  a  tragedy  ever  stale, 
and  ever  freshly  illustrated.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  a 
personal  experience. ' ' 

*' You  don't  look  like  a  reformed  drunkard,  sir." 

*  *  No,  I  never  drank.  But  I  dearly  loved  one  who 
did.     Shall  I  tell  you  about  him  ?  " 

"If  it  will  not  be  too  painful,  sir,"  said  the  young 
fellow,  moved  to  sympathy  by  something  in  his  com- 
panion's ton^. 

"Well,  first  read  a  part  of  a  letter  I  received  some 
time  ago,"  said  the  older  man,  taking  out  a  huge 
pocketbook,  in  which  there  were  many  papers,  from 
which  he  extracted  the  letter,  and  folded  this  passage 
down. 


P 


\\ 


V' 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


217 


!>' 


The  young  fellow  took  it,  and  read,  with  a  strong 
sensation  of  intruding  upon  private  grief : 

Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  three  little  children  and 
a  wife  whose  childlike  and  innocent  life  should  have 
led  me  to  better  things.  Many  a  care  and  many  a 
sorrow  she  has  had  since  she  married  me,  and  many  a 
time,  God  knows,  I've  been  deeply  penitent  to  have 
given  her  cause  for  grief. 

But  I  have  the  restless  blood  of  a  drunkard  in  my 
veins,  and  it  carries  me  away  to  dreadful,  and  disgraceful 
sprees.  I  promise,  I  swear  off,  I  protest  by  all  that's 
good  and  holy  that  liquor  shall  never  pass  my  lips  again, 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  A  craving — a  devil — takes 
possession  of  me,  and  after  weeks,  or  even  months, 
of  abstention  I  break  out  and  degrade  myself  and 
shame  my  children,  and  heap  misery  on  them  and  my 
wife. 

The  old  year  is  closing  as  I  write  and  the  new  comes 
up  before  me  like  an  enemy — so  much  do  I  feel  my 
weakness.  Th^t  God  may  close  my  old  life  and  open 
a  new  and  better  one  to  me  is  the  cry  of  my  heart  to- 
night ;  for  if  I  do  not  find  strength  that  the  past  gives 
me  no  hope  of  gaining,  before  the  leaves  of  next  sum- 
mer wither  I  shall  fill  a  drunkard's  grave  and  leave  my 
wife  and  little  ones  to  the  mercy  of  the  world. 

"  Surely  the  man  who  wrote  that  never  drank  again," 
said  the  young  traveler,  handing  back  the  page. 

**I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  and  then  told  the  story 
substantially  as  follows : 

That  letter  was  written  by  my  own  brother.  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  several  years.  He  was  a  lawyer,  practising 
in  a  place  far  from  me  and  all  of  our   family.     We 


2l8 


TOLD   ON    A    PULLMAN 


had  thought  of  him  as  a  prosperous  and  happy  man. 
His  marriage  had  set  at  rest  some  fears  excited  by  his 
earlier  life.  You  can  understand  that  that  letter  v/as  a 
dreadful  shock  to  me.  His  reference  to  the  drunkard's 
blood  in  his  veins  had  a  significance  for  me  that  you 
cannot  understand,  for  on  one  side  of  my  parentage  I 
come  of  a  family  that  has  suffered  beyond  telling 
through  the  drinking  habit.  Clever  men  in  it ;  witty, 
great-hearted  fellows,  much  loved,  popular,  eloquent. 
One  was  a  Supreme  Court  judge ;  two  were  among 
the  foremost  orators  of  their  native  State.  Their 
fame  blazed  up  in  their  very  youth.  It  declined  just 
as  men  began  to  expect  something  really  great  of 
them.  It  ended  before  middle  age  in  drunkenness 
and  death. 

On  the  other  side,  my  relatives  are  steady-going 
people  without  any  brilliant  qualities.  I  take  after 
them,  and  remembering  the  others,  I  have  never 
dared  to  taste  liquor. 

But  my  brother  did  dare.  You  remember  your 
expression  awhile  ago,  *'I  am  glad  I  can  say  that  I  can 
take  it,  or  leave  it  alone,  as  I  please. ' '  How  often  I 
had  heard  the  very  words  and  tone  from  poor  Randal. 
Just  about  your  age  he  must  have  been  when  he  used 
to  meet  my  expostulations  by  that  perennial  boast  of 
young  men. 

"What's  the  use  of  telling  me  about  my  uncles, 
Fred?  "  he  would  say.     '*They  craved  liquor.    I  never 


TOLD   ON    A    PULLMAN 


219 


touch  it,  except  for  the  sake  of  a  little  jollity.     I  can 
take  it,  or  leave  it,  as  I  please. ' ' 

But  I'll  not  weary  you  by  details  of  his  youthful 
escapades.  As  I  said,  we  believed  him  to  have  turned 
over  a  new  leaf  after  his  marriage  in  a  distant  State. 
He  brought  his  wife  home  to  us  for  a  few  weeks,  a 
lovely,  golden-haired  young  creature.  Well !  well ! 
no  use  telling  about  that.  He  had  "finally  sworn 
off"  then,  and  they  were  very  happy.  After  that  I 
knew  no  more  of  him  than  that  he  reported,  in  oc- 
casional letters,  the  growth  of  his  family  and  prosperity. 
The  sad  letter  which  you  have  read  came  after  a  wide 
gap  in  our  correspondence.  I  instantly  determined  to 
make  time  for  a  long  visit  to  him,  and  wrote  him  to 
that  effect.  He  responded  joyfully,  and  in  early  sum- 
mer I  made  the  journey. 

On  arriving  at  the  village  I  was  surprised  that  he  did 
not  meet  me.  Inquiring  where  Randal's  office  was, 
the  stationmaster  told  me  that  he  would  not  probably 
be  at  his  office  that  day ;  **  he  was  a  little  out  of  sorts," 
the  man  had  heard.  I  would  find  him  at  home  ;  it 
wasn't  far  ;  and  the  railway  man  gave  me  directions. 

Following  them  I  walked  on  through  a  pretty  little 
town  of  comfortable  brick  houses  and  shady,  sandy 
streets,  a  most  peaceful  place.  Reaching  its  outskirts 
as  instructed,  I  soon  faced  a  handsome  house  with  an 
extensive  lawn  in  front,  well  kept,  with  flower  beds  and 
many  evidences  of  care. 


220 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


I  had  associated  my  brother's  confession  with  the 
drunkenness  seen  in  my  own  town,  and  imagined  him 
as  having  become  miserably  poor  ;  hence  I  was  a  good 
deal  relieved  by  the  appearance  of  prosperity  about 
his  residence. 

"Pooh!"  I  said  to  myself,  going  up  the  gravel 
path,  "he  has  exaggerated  his  vice.  No  doubt  he 
had  taken  too  much  about  Christmas  time,  and  was 
suffering  from  a  bad  headache  in  consequence. ' ' 

As  I  approached  it  struck  me  as  rather  strange  that 
no  one  was  to  be  seen  about  the  house.  I  observed 
that  the  garden  ran  far  back  to  a  cedar  wood  or  swamp, 
and  from  this  wood  I  thought  I  heard  faint  shouts. 

I  ascended  the  veranda  steps.  Not  a  face  appeared 
at  the  windows.  As  I  rang  the  bell,  I  heard  a  child 
crying  within.  With  the  faint  jangle  that  came  to  me 
the  cry  ceased.  I  stood  expectant.  The  child  again 
began  its  wail,  but  no  one  came.  I  rang  again  and 
again.  With  each  sound  of  the  bell  the  child's  voice 
ceased,  to  rise  again  as  the  tinkle  died  away.  Much 
puzzled,  I  went  around  to  the  rear  wing. 

The  kitchen  door  stood  wide  open,  a  bright  fire  was 
in  the  stove,  there  were  dishes  unwashed  and  food  in 
course  of  preparation,  but  no  servants.  Entering,  I 
looked  into  three  comfortable  rooms,  finding  no  person. 
In  the  fourth,  a  large  sitting  room,  a  very  little  girl  sat 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  surrounded  by  toys.  I 
knew  at  once  that  she  must  be  little  Flora,  my  brother's 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


231 


youngest,  his  pet,  being  the  youngest  girl,  a  baby  of 
something  more  than  two  years. 

She  looked  up  at  me,  round-eyed  with  wonder.  "Is 
this  little  Flora?"  I  r.sked. 

"I's  papa's  little  girl,"  she  answered,  very  dis- 
tinctly.     "Papa  !  papa  I  "  and  she  began  to  cry  again. 

Unwilling  though  she  was,  I  took  her  in  my  arms 
and  soon  managed  to  soothe  her  by  the  ticking  of  my 
watch.  Then  I  carried  her  through  every  room  in  the 
house  without  finding  another  soul. 

Trying  in  vain  to  account  for  the  desertion,  I  re- 
turned downstairs  and  to  the  kitchen.  As  I  reached 
it,  two  small  boys  came  in,  little  Randal  and  Fred.  I 
knew  them  from  photographs. 

They  stared  at  me  with  alarm.  Both  had  been  cry- 
ing, I  could  see.  When  I  told  them  I  was  Uncle  Fred 
they  came  to  me  shyly. 

*  *  And  where  are  papa  and  mamma  ?  "   I  asked. 

The  little  fellows  hung  their  heads.  "  Papa  is  sick," 
said  Randal,  the  elder,  hesitatingly. 

**  But  where  is  he?" 

"  He  got  up  and  ran  out,"  said  the  poor  little  man, 
raising  a  chubby  hand  to  his  eyes. 

"  And  where  are  mamma  and  all  the  rest?  " 

"Mamma  didn't  know  papa  had  gone  till  he  was 
near  into  the  woods,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  rear  of 
the  garden,  "and  then  she  ran  after  him,  and  she 
called  Kitty  and  Jane  and  Thomas,  and  we  ran  after 


222 


TOLD   ON    A    PULLMAN 


V 


them,  and  they  sent  us  home  to  take  care  of  the  baby. 
They  can't  find  papa,  and  he's  lost,"  so  my  little 
nephew  explained  through  his  sobs. 

Scarcely  had  he  done  speaking  when  a  man  appeared 
at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  soon  afterward  a  group 
following  him.  Then  he  stopped,  turned,  and  shook 
his  fist  at  them. 

*  *  Go  '  way  !  Lemme  alone  !  Don'  come  near  me  ! ' ' 
and  I  recognized  my  brother's  voice. 

Those  who  followed  sc-emed  either  to  fear  or  to 
humor  him,  for  they  kept  their  distance.  On  he  came, 
tumbling  over  the  fence  into  the  garden.  Then  he 
picked  himself  up,  reeled,  steadied  himself,  lurched 
forward  again,  and  sometimes  running,  but  always  keep- 
ing his  feet,  approached  me. 

The  boys,  crying  and  shuddering,  stood  clutching 
me  till  he  was  two-thirds  of  the  way  up  the  garden. 

**Come,  Freddy,"  said  little  Randal  with  a  sudden 
recollection,  *' we  mustn't  see  papa  when  he's  sick," 
and  led  the  other  in. 

It  was  the  most  piteous  child's  voice — the  most 
piteous  thing — those  two  little  lads,  fond  and  ashamed 
of  their  own  father  ! 

He  came  on,  not  noticing  me  till  within  a  few  paces. 
He  was  unshod  and  only  half  clad,  just  as  he  had  run 
out  in  semi-delirium,  and  had  been  staggering  through 
mud  and  water. 

At  last  he  stopped,  looked  at  me  in  evident  recog- 


;/ 


\\ 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


223 


nition,  trying  to  control  his  swayings  ;  then,  as  if  un- 
conscious of  any  shame,  came  toward  me.       '^ 

"It's  you,  Fred.  When'd  you  come?  Why  din' 
you  lemme  know,  Fred  ?  " 

His  hand  closed  like  a  vise  on  mine ;  his  whole 
strength — and  he  was  a  very  large,  powerful  man — 
seemed  to  fly  to  his  fingers,  but  they  trembled  as  he 
grasped  my  hand. 

I  could  not  speak.  He  looked  stupidly  into  my  face, 
with  half-open,  bloodshot  eyes,  for  a  few  moments  ; 
then,  ignoring  me  as  completely  as  if  I  had  been 
always  there,  reached  out  his  arms  for  Florry. 

''Come  to  papa — thass  papa's  dear  li'l  girl."  At 
his  husky,  affectionate,  distressing  voice  I  strained  the 
child  closer,  but  she  held  out  her  arms  to  him,  and 
staggering  forward,  he  grasped  her. 

Kissing  and  fondling  little  Florence,  he  entered  the 
kitchen  and  cautiously  ascended  the  steps  leading  to 
the  hall.  I  kept  my  hand  on  his  arm,  and  of  this  sup- 
port he  seemed  wholly  unconscious.  It  was  plain  that 
his  debauch  had  been  a  long  one,  for  his  hair  was  neg- 
lected, his  beard  of  a  week's  growth. 

My  brother  fell  into  a  chair,  still  fondling  his  little 
daughter,  and  looked  dumbly  around.  I  seemed  no 
more  to  him  than  any  senseless  object  in  the  room. 
To  me,  this  sodden,  silent  man  was  as  one  I  had  never 
known,  so  changed  was  his  from  the  bright,  alert  face 
of  which  yours  has  reminded  me. 


224 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


n 


V- 


Soon  I  heard  voices,  and  left  the  room  to  meet  my 
brother's  wife.  Poor  Lucy  !  I  was  ashamed  to  meet 
her,  ashamed  that  she  should  know  that  I  had  seen 
him ;  I  wished  that  I  could  have  escaped  unobserved. 
Little  did  I  know  how  far  the  poor  girl  was  past  vain 
efforts  to  conceal  her  husband's  vice.  i. 

She  came  silently  to  me,  unsurprised — not  to  be  sur- 
prised by  anything  in  life.  Her  fair  hair,  that  I  remem- 
bered as  seeming  blown  about  her  flower-like  face,  was 
smooth  and  lank  each  side  her  forehead.  She  was  very 
pale,  and  oh,  how  old  she  looked  !  Her  eyes — they 
give  tragedy  to  black-eyed  women — I  could  not  have 
believed  that  such  settled  misery  could  over  look  forth 
from  eyes  of  blue.  She  did  not  weep,  she  did  not 
speak.  Holding  my  hand,  she  only  looked  at  me  with 
those  hopeless  eyes. 

Seeing  us,  the  servant  who  had  entered  went  back 
and  closed  the  door.  Then  the  little  boys  stole  softly 
down,  hand  in  hand,  averting  their  looks  of  shame 
from  the  room  where  their  father  sat,  and,  standing  by 
their  mother,  covered  their  faces  in  her  skirts. 

Not  a  word  was  uttered  in  the  group,  and  the 
hall  clock  above  us  ticked  and  ticked  its  strokes  of 
doom.  We  could  hear  the  unconscious  baby  crowing, 
and  my  brother's  affectionate  mumbhng  to  her. 

"Papa's  li'l  girl — papa's  dear  li'l  baby  girl." 

Sir,  I  don't  think  I  can  tell  you  the  rest.  Oh,  well, 
we  stood  for  some  little  time,   listening.      Then  my 


n  \\ 


\y 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


225 


brother  said,  coaxingly,  "Papa  '11  leave  dear  li'l  girl 
down,  'n  go'n  see  li'l  girl's  Uncle  Fred."  At  the 
same  time  he  rose,  and  we  entered. 

"Let  me  take  the  baby,  Randal,"  said  Lucy,  very 
gently. 

"  Go  'way,  Lucy  dear  !  Mus'n't  in' fere  with  baby," 
he  expostulated  with  drunken,  not  unkindly  gravity. 

"But  you  want  to  go  upstairs,  don't  you,  Randal 
dear?" 

*  *  Yes,  I  wan'  to  go  '  pstairs.  Go'  n'  set  baby  down 
firs' ,  '  n'  give  her  toys.  You  oughtn'  t  take  baby,  Lucy  ; 
she's  too  heavy — must  take  care  not  hurt  yourself, 
Lucy."  The  survival  of  his  affection  through  his  deg- 
radation, seemed  somehow  more  heart-breaking  than 
violence  from  him  would  have  been. 

I  did  not  think  he  could  set  the  child  down,  but  re- 
fusing to  be  assisted  in  the  least,  he  stooped  very  care- 
fully, though  swaying  a  little,  and  placed  her  again 
among  her  playthings  on  the  floor.  For  a  few  moments 
he  stood  leaning,  smiling  down  on  her  drunkenly, 
fumbling  his  fingers  without  sound  in  attempting  to 
snap  them  for  her  amusement.  The  child  looked  up 
into  his  face,  and  held  out  her  arms. 

"  Baby  want  to  kiss  papa,"  he  said  in  a  gratified 
tone,  and  stooped  lower.  And  then,  before  either  of 
us  could  reach  him,  he  fell  forward  full  length,  his 
whole  weight  crushing  little  Florry  down. 

She  cried  out,  and  seemed  to  smother.     The  next 


t 


226 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


X 


' 


instant  he  had  rolled  aside,  and  there  the  little,  lovely 
child  lay,  bleeding  at  the  mouth.  .    ' 

The  poor  mother,  with  a  shriek,  lifted  her  baby  to 
her  heart.  It  sighed,  sighed — and  lay  still.  Randal, 
by  my  aid,  had  reached  his  feet.  The  struggling  fear, 
hope,  and  horror  of  his  face  I  shall  never  forget !     '• 

* '  Baby  ! "  he  said,  stooping  down.  *  *  Baby,  look  at 
papa.  Baby — just  once — ^look  at  papa.  O  my  God  ! 
Lucy,  have  I  killed  my  Uttle  baby  girl  ?  " 

Even  so  it  was,  for  little  Florry  never  held  out  her 
arms  to  him  again.  The  mother — but  I  need  not  de- 
scribe the  anguish  of  that  household.  We  hardly 
knew  when  my  brother  recovered  from  the  insanity  of 
liquor,  for  it  was  followed  by  the  delirium  of  brain 
fever.  There  he  lay  for  a  fortnight,  talking  constantly 
of  Florry,  and  when  consciousness  returned  still  lay 
there,  exhausted,  silent,  a  mere  wreck,  often  crying 
dumbly.  Two  months  elapsed  before  he  left  his 
room.  • 

Sir,  he  swore  he  never  would  touch  liquor  again, 
swore  it,  as  his  letter  says,  by  all  that  was  good  and 
holy.  And  even  between  his  protests,  he  said  to  me, 
**I  can't  keep  from  it,  Fred,  I  can't — it's  too  strong 
for  me."  I  could  not  believe  that  he  judged  truly  of 
his  weakness,  but  he  knew  it  too  well — ^it  was  no  longer 
for  him  to  take  it  or  leave  it  alone. 

One  day,  when  we  believed  him  safe  at  his  office,  he 
entered  the  house,  looking,  I  thought,  remarkably  well.  * 


TOLD    ON    A    PULLMAN 


227 


lis 


But  when  Lucy  saw  his  face,  she  sprang  up  with  a 
bitter,  trembling  cry.  He  stood,  as  if  listening,  at  the 
door  of  the  room,  looking  in. 

**Lucy,  Where's  little  Florry?  I  want  to  take  her 
out  with  me,"  he  said  in  a  perfectly  natural  voice. 

Though  quite  steady  on  his  legs,  and  with  perfect 
control  cl  his  utterances,  he  had  drunk  himself  into 
absolute  forgetfulness ! 

And  from  that  day  out  he  could  not  be  restrained. 
He  would  have  liquor.  Again  and  again  he  escaped 
from  the  room  in  which  we  tried  to  confine  him.  His 
cunning  and  agility  were  preternatural.  The  demon 
that  he  had  dared  to  trifle  with  never  left  hiin  afterward, 
and,  at  last,  searching  for  him  after  an  escape  in  the 
night,  we  found  him  half-naked,  face  down,  quite  dead, 
in  a  ditch. 

And  now  I  ask  you  whether  I  can  credit  any  man 
who  says  of  liquor  that  he  **can  take  it,  or  leave  it 
alone"? 

The  young  traveler  made  no  answer  except  that  he 
took  from  his  pocket  the  flask  which  had  led  to  the 
story,  and  poured  its  A  i  contents  into  the  wash-basin 
of  that  Pullman  car. 


/■<;•■ 


le 


V  1 


li 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


BETWEEN  Michipicoten  and  Nepigon  Bays  the 
north  shore  of  Lake  Superior  erects  an  ironlike 
front  against  waves  scarcely  less  enormous  than  the 
vastest  of  the  ocean.  They  whelm  up  before  a  gale 
from  the  south  with  the  unchecked  oscillation  of  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles,  to  swing  upon  that  high-walled 
coast  with  a  ma^sy  and  solemn  force  more  appalling 
than  the  fury  of  breakers. 

So  deep,  commonly,  is  the  water  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliffs  that  no  vessel  can  hope  to  find  near  them  a  secure 
anchorage  against  a  gale  driving  on  the  heights.  Har- 
bors there  are  none ;  islands  affording  shelter  are  far 
apart ;  and  the  north  shore  is  altogether  so  dangerous 
that  lake  captains  shun  it  when  they  can. 

Because  we  knew  all  this  on  board  the  big  steam -yacht 
**Trampler,"  Captain  Lount  dropped  anchor  in  the 
lee  of  the  Slate  Islands  on  the  evening  of  August  ninth. 
He  might  have  run  on  eastward  that  night  to  Michipico- 
ten, but  there  was  no  telling  what  weather  might  come 
before  morning.  In  the  heated  term  that  side  of  Lake 
Superior  is  often  swept  by  such  cyclonic  squalls  as  work 

havoc  on  the  Atlantic  coast  at  the  same  season. 
228 


'n% 


}   1 


-fy 


w 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


229 


George  Crombie  and  his  three  guests  cared  little 
whether  the  "Trampler"  stopped  for  the  night  or 
steamed  on.  We  were  four  rather  reckless  students  who 
had  been  up  the  Nepigon  River  trout-fishing  for  ten 
days,  while  the  big  yacht,  owned  by  George's  father,  lay 
waiting  for  us  at  the  Hudson  Bay  Company's  crazy 
wharf  at  Red  Rock.  Now  we  were,  day  after  day, 
enjoying  most  fascinating  fly-fishing  in  lake  water,  under 
the  towering  cliffs  of  the  main  shore. 

Joe  Wislemkoom,  one  of  our  Ojibway  guides,  was  de 
lighted  with  the  * '  Trampler'  s ' '  halt  at  the  Slate  Islands  ; 
indeed  he  liked  nothing  better  than  halting,  except 
fishing,  shooting,  and  eating,  yet  he  responded  to 
orders  with  great  alacrity.  Whenever  we  halted,  Joe 
generally  reposed,  in  accordance  with  the  Indian 
maxim,  "Walking  is  better  than  running,  standing  is 
better  than  walking,  sitting  is  better  than  standing,  and 
lying  down  is  better  than  sitting." 

*  *  Good  bully  man  you  for  stop  ! ' '  Joe  said  to 
Captain  Lount.  *  *  Catchum  big  trout  to-morrow.  Two 
gemplen  fish  by  him  big  steamboat  all  'round  islands. 
Oder  two  gemplen  take  little  steamboat — take  canoe — 
come  with  Joe  Wislemkoom.  Me  show  him  Hole  in 
de  Wall — big  trout — long  your  arm,  mebby. ' ' 

In  compliance  with  this  suggestion,  Mandeville 
Merritt  and  George  Shepley  stayed  at  the  islands  next 
morning,  while  Crombie  and  I  took  a  canoe  with  the 
steam-launch  and  headed  northeastward. 


230 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


W 


"If  the   Hole   in    the  Wall  is  where   Joe   says   it 
is,"  said  Captain  Lount,  "you  ought  to  get  back  to- 
night, if  nothing  goes  wrong  with  the  launch  or  the 
weather." 
.  /  "Oh,  yes,  we'll  probably  be  back  before  dark,"  said 

>  /         Crombie.      "  But  if  there's  much  wind  we'll  stay  in  the 
Hole  in  the  Wall.     Joe  says  there' s  good  shelter  there. ' ' 

"I've  always  heard  so,  but  I've  never  seen  the 
place,"  said  Lount.  "The  trouble  is  to  find  it; 
but  I've  no  doubt  Joe  can  do  that.  Shall  I  run  over 
for  you  with  the  yacht  in  the  morning  in  case  you 
don' t  turn  up  before  ?  "  ,      • 

"You'd  better,"  said  Crombie.  "We'll  steam  out 
into  the  lake  and  expect  to  see  you  about  eight  o'clock 
or  so." 

As  we  scuttled  away  at  six  o'clock,  with  a  full  camp 
kit  stored  partly  in  the  launch  and  partly  in  the  towed 
canoe,  the  morning  was  clear  and  calm.  The  Hole, 
Joe  thought,  was  not  more  than  twenty  miles  away ; 
by  nine  o'clock  we  should  be  well  within  its  shelter. 
No  sign  of  danger  was  in  the  sky,  for  the  air  seemed 
no  more  sultry  than  it  had  been  for  several  days. 

Crombie,  a  bit  of  a  mechanician,  liked  to  run  the 
launch  himself  Perhaps  he  was  too  fond  of  crowding 
on  steam ;  perhaps  there  had  been  an  unsuspected  flaw 
in  the  machinery ;  at  any  rate,  there  was  a  sudden 
clatter  of  broken  irons,  and  the  screw  stopped  when  we 
were  about  half  a  mile  from  the  north  shore  clifFs.  ^ 


w 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


231 


I  was  then  in  the  bow  with  Joe  Wislemkoom,  scan- 
ning the  coast,  which  rose  brown  li^e  an  iron  wall  fully 
four  hundred  feet  high.  Joe  huo  begun  to  look  care- 
fully for  the  Hole  in  the  Wall,  which  joined  the  lake 
in  such  a  manner,  he  said,  that  the  Hole  would  not  be 
seen  till  we  were  close  to 
it.  He  had  drawn  a  rude 
diagram  in  my  note-book, 
which  I  pocketed  on  hear- 
ing the  crash.     '  ^Launch 

*'  What's  the  row?  "     I  asked  turning  to  Crombie. 

**Oh,  just  something  wrong,"  he  answered  crossly. 
•*  Leave  me  alone.     I'll  fix  it  in  a  minute." 

As  nothing  exasperated  this  amateur  mechanic  more 
than  to  be  overlooked  while  trying  to  right  some  of  the 
numerous  "wrongs"  that  occurred  under  his  dealing 
with  machinery,  I  turned  again  to  the  cliffs. 

No  birds  winged  about  that  treeless  and  stern  desola- 
tion except  a  few  white-paper-like  gulls  that  seemed  to 
be  fishing  at  one  point  on  the  cliff's  foot.  No  sound 
disturbed  the  great  silence  except  Crombie' s  angry 
tinkering.  Lake  Superior's  clear  green  lay  so  calm 
that  no  motion  of  the  little  launch  v/as  perceptible 
except  when  it  swayed  with  Crombie' s  movements  from 
side  to  side.  The  canoe  lay  at  an  unvarying  distance 
of  about  twelve  feet  from  us,  though  the  least  zephyr 
would  have  kept  it  swinging  at  its  rope's  end. 

"  Mebby  Hole   in  Wall?"  said   Joe  Wislemkoom, 


232 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


doubtfully,  pointing  to  the  gulls.  **  Long  time  since  I 
be  here — my  fader' n  me.  Gull  fly  all  same  way  by 
Hole  den." 

"  Couldn't  you  see  the  Hole  from  this  distance  ?  " 

**  No — him  look  all  same  like  wall  till  near,  near. 
Don't  see  no  more  gull  nowhere,"  and  he  gazed  east- 
ward and  westward. 

"Well,  perhaps  it's  the  place,"  I  said. 

•'Mebby — only  de  rock  no  look  same  like  I'll  re- 
memb'  by  gull.  Wall  look  like  he  been  rub  long  'way 
up." 

"Your  eyes  must  be  better  than  mine,  Joe." 

*'  For  sure  better.     You  no  see  like  tree  by  gull?  " 

"No,  I  don't  see  the  least  sign  of  a  tree  anywhere 
about  there." 

"Tree  dere  all  same — no  branch  on  him — not  big 
tree.  You  want  see  him?  Mebby,  if  take  canoe, 
you'n  me  see  Hole." 

• '  Do,  for  goodness  sake  take  the  canoe  and  go  ! " 
said  Crombie.  "You  can  whip  that  water  while  I'm 
fixing  things.  It  may  take  me  an  hour.  I'd  sooner 
you'd  go.  Perhaps  we'll  be  here  till  noon,  and  some 
fresh  trout  would  go  well  for  lunch." 

Joe  and  I  promptly  got  into  the  canoe,  which  con- 
tained a  bell  tent,  two  long-handled  hatchets,  and  a  kit 
for  camp-cooking.  All  our  provisions  were  in  the 
lockers  of  the  launch.  So  short  was  the  distance  to 
shore  that  I  never  thought  of  lightening  the  canoe,  nor 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE    WALL 


233 


putting  food  aboard  it.  With  a  bamboo  rod  and  a 
landing-net  beside  me  I  grasped  the  bow  paddle,  and 
away  we  shot  toward  the  gulls. 

"Yes,  b'gum  !  Hole  in  Wall.  Look  !"  cried  Joe, 
at  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  shore. 

Directly  in  our  front  was  what  looked  like  a  narrow 
discoloration  extending  from  the  watet  to  the  top  of  the 
cliff.  As  we  went  nearer,  I  saw  this  to  be  caused  by  a 
sharp  indentation  of  part  of  the  wall.  In  this  gap 
water  was  soon  visible,  and  then  the  break  of  the  cliff's 
sky  line  could  be  seen. 

Not  far  from  the  west  corner  of  the  gap,  but  on  the 
lake  face  of  the  cliff,  flew  the  gulls,  somewhat  disturbed 
by  our  approach.  Beneath  them  could  be  seen  such  a 
scuttling  of  fish  as  alewives  make  on  the  sea  coast. 
We  knew  that  thousands  of  trout  were  playing  there 
on  some  small,  hidden  protrusion  of  rock,  but  Joe 
seemed  unconcerned  about  them.  He  was  gazing, 
open-mouthed,  at  the  traces  of  man's  work  on  the  cliff. 

A  tall  cedar,  with  stubs  of  branches  left,  as  if  to  assist 
men  in  climbing,  stood  against  the  precipice.  Its  foot 
was  in  water.  Its  top  went  up  full  sixty  feet  to  what 
could  scarcely  be  called  a  ledge.  On  both  sides  of  the 
cedar,  and  as  far  upward  as  we  could  see,  the  face  of 
the  cliff  had  been  cleared  of  mosses  and  lichens  for  a 
space  some  twenty- five  feet  wide. 

"What  for?  Who  make?"  asked  Joe,  as  if  not 
only  puzzled  but  alarmed. 


234 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


"  Beats  me,  Joe,"  I  said.  "  Looks  as  if  men  had 
been  hauling  something  up  the  wall  here." 

In  fact,  as  I  learned  later,  a  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way contractor  had  fixed  a  windlass  on  the  cliff  top 
three  years  earlier  and  hauled  up  telegraph  poles  there. 
The  raft  of  poles  had  been  towed  into  the  Hole  in  the 
Wall  for  shelter  from  storms,  and  brought  by  small  cribs 
to  this  point,  which  was  most  convenient  for  lifting  the 
sticks. 

Nothing  remained  of  the  contractor's  work  except 
the  cedar  tree  which  had  been  fixed  there  to  afford 
men  working  at  the  water's  edge  a  means  of  ascending 
to  a  safe  standing-place  in  case  of  sudden  storms.  It 
was  clamped  by  iron  bands  and  nuts  to  screw-headed 
bolts  wedged  firmly  into  holes  drilled  on  the  cliff's 
face.  Thus  that  unrotting  timber  had  endured  the 
beating  of  three  years'  storms,  though  it  was  deeply 
dented  and  somewhat  shredded  by  the  pounding  of 
ice. 

The  thing  was  so  mysterious  to  Joe  and  me  that  we 
resolved  to  examine  it  thoroughly  before  casting  a  fly 
among  the  throngs  of  trout.  So  we  tied  the  bow  of 
the  canoe  to  the  foot  of  the  cedar,  pulled  thick  folds 
of  the  tent  over  the  bark  sides  to  protect  them  from 
rubbing  on  the  face  of  the  cliff,  and  then  climbed  the 
iron-clamped  tree. 

Near  its  top  we  stepped  off  upon  a  sort  of  rough- 
topped  rock  platform,  which  could  have  afforded  stand- 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


235 


of 


ing-room  to  forty  men.  Above  this  the  clifT  leaned 
very  slightly  inward,  but  presented  no  sign  of  another 
standing-place  above  us,  so  far  as  we  could  see. 

As  there  was  nothing  of  interest  on  the  rock  platform 
except  some  granite  shards  and  sand,  which  marked 
where  a  fire  had  long  burned,  I  was  turning  to  gaze  at 
the  blue -green  endless  expanse  of  Superior,  when  Joe 
broke  into  a  cry  of  alarm. 

•*  Murdy — see  wind  ! "  he  shouted. 

When  I  had  last  looked  seaward  there  was  not  even 
a  cloud  as  big  as  a  man's  hand.  Now,  perhaps  ten 
minutes  later,  an  amazing,  wraithlike,  white  mass  was 
hurtling,  through  sunshine,  from  the  south. 

"Down,  quick!  Let's  get  back  to  Crombiel"  I 
shouted,  seizing  the  cedar's  top. 

**  No — no  good — save  canoe  ! "  said  Joe. 

The  squall  was  traveling  at  a  rate  so  prodigious  that 
it  seemed  already  to  have  leaped  half-way  to  the  launch, 
where  we  could  still  hear  Crombie  absorbed  in  his 
hammering.  I  yelled  at  him,  but  he  gave  no  sign 
of  hearing.  It  was  plain  that  our  canoe  would  go 
under  in  an  attempt  to  reach  him.  Could  the  launch, 
without  power  of  motion,  weather  the  shortest  hurri- 
cane ? 

**  Canoe — save  canoe  !  "  said  Joe  again. 

As  he  climbed  down,  and  I  after  him,  cool  puffs 
stirred  the  water  below  us.  I  glanced  at  the  launch  ; 
it  was  already  dancing,    and   Crombie   was  standing 


236 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


w 


i 


gazing  at  the  coming  fury.     The  gulls 
were  now  flying  far  overhead,  as  if 
to  sail  inland  and  avoid  being  bat- 
tered against  the  cliff  by  the  blast. 
Our  canoe  was  rocking  violently,  and 
all  the  scurrying  of  trout  had  ceased. 
Joe,  standing  in  two  feet  of  water 
on  what  was  a  narrow,  rounding  pro- 
trusion of  rock,  pulled  up  the  tent, 
packed  it  on  my  back,  and  cried  : 
*'Go  up  —  quick — come  down — 
:}   quick!     Mebbe  save  canoe,  too." 
I  supposed  he  meant  to  stay  below 
and   hold  it  from  battering  on  the 
wall,  but  I  heard  him  clattering  after 
me  with  the  cooking-kit  and  axes,  for 
an   Indian    hates   to   abandon   such 
property.     He  threw  the  things  on 
the  standing-place  and  turned 
to  go  down.     Perhaps  our 
united  strength  could  haul 
up  the  light  canoe. 

But  now  the  squall  was 
on  us.  It  had  totally  hid- 
den the  launch.  It  seemed 
to  scoop  up  water  and  drive 
heavy  spray  on  the  fierce 
edge  of  its  wind.     I  was  lit- 


( 


w 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


237 


\  I 


erally  forced  back  to  the  wall.  There  the  blast  soon 
"banked"  and  left  a  space  now  still,  now  of  furious 
wind  eddies.  Fearful  of  being  blown  off  sidewise,  I 
lay  down  just  as  Joe  stumbled  and  fell  beside  me. 

There  we  crouched  in  such  a  demoniac  shrieking  of 
the  elements  as  I  have  never  elsewhere  heard.  Soon  a 
slash  of  cold  water  doused  us.  It  seemed  incredible 
that  wave  crests  could  have  so  suddenly  leaped  so  high, 
but  we  were  drenched  again  and  again  before  the  mist 
or  rack  of  the  storm  let  us  see  anything  of  the  lake 
once  more. 

Its  waters  were  tumbling  far  below  us  in  waves  of 
amazing  volume,  whose  crests  were  being  swept  off  and 
whirled  high,  as  if  carried  by  an  upward  slant  of  the 
wind  rising  to  go  over  the  precipice.  Swift  masses  of 
cold  water  continued  to  be  launched  at  us  as  if  from 
the  sky.  So  thick  was  the  air  with  spume  that  I  could 
see  the  terrible  face  of  the  deep  only  at  intervals,  and 
yet  the  whole  scene  was  now  again  illuminated  by  the 
high  sun's  pouring  of  rays  through  the  flying  scud. 

Twenty  minutes  more  and  the  tempest  had  passed, 
but  there  was  still  a  high  wind.  The  spume  fell  out  of 
the  air;  the  waves  began  rolling  out  of  confusion  into 
regular  march ;  crests  no  longer  drenched  us.  We 
stood  up  and  looked  for  Crombie.  Not  a  trace  of  the 
launch  could  be  seen. 

**  Mebbe  little  steamboat  blow  in  by  Hole  in  Wall," 
said  Joe,  peering  to  the  eastward. 


238 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE    WALL 


\t 


But  the  Hole,  though  within  a  hundred  yards  of  us, 
was  completely  hidden  by  the  cliff.  We  could  see  no 
sign  of  the  gap  except  that  the  water  before  it  did  not 
surge  high  and  fall  back  in  a  huge  returning  wave.  I 
fancied  that  a  certain  set  of  crests  indicated  the  current 
that  must  be  running  into  the  Hole  with  so  sudden  a 
lifting  of  the  lake's  north  side.  I  even  imagined  that 
Crombie  might  have  clung  to  the  bulkheaded  launch, 
after  its  inevitable  rolling  over,  and  been  drawn  into 
the  calm  shelter  beyond.  •  '      ■  ir---. 

But  a  steady  gaze  downward  scattered  all  my  hopes. ' 
Some  fragments  of  our  canoe  were  being  thrashed  to 
and  fro  with  the  rope  which  had  tied  it  to  the  cedar. 
But  more  than  the  canoe  tossed  there. 

** Little  steamboat!"  gasped  Joe,  and  descended 
twenty  feet.     He  returned  quickly,  looking  horrified. 

"Broke  all  to  pieces,"  he  said.  **Come  in  right 
here.  Poor  Misser  Crombie  !  He  was  good  bully  kind 
man — good  to  Indian  all  time,  all  time."  , 

Two  hours  later,  when  wind  and  sea  had  gone  down, 
we  were  able  to  descend  and  stand  once  more  on  the 
little  shoal  place.  Thousands  of  trout  were  again 
scuttling  around  there,  quite  regardless  of  the  boiler  of 
the  launch,  which  had  been  thrown  upon  the  protrud- 
ing rock  and  battered  almost  to  pieces  against  the 
precipice.  Little  else  of  her  wreckage  was  to  be  seen, 
though  she  must  have  come  in  bodily  and  gone  to 
pieces  right  below  our  perch.     I  climbed  back  to  it, . 


A1 


/ 


w 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


239 


it, 


imagining  poor  Crombie's  body  streaming  along  in  the 
clear  undercurrents,  among  companies  of  inquisitive 
fish. 

For  hours  I  sat  silently  beside  Joe,  gazing  wofully  at 
the  calm  spread  of  Superior,  Sunset  came,  gilding, 
reddening,  empurpling,  and  miraging  the  interminable 
expanse.  Very  slowly  the  August  darkness  drew  over 
the  face  of  the  deep.  The  light  of  moon  and  stars 
showed  us  dimly  the  barriers  of  our  prison.  There 
were  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  water  to  the  south, 
and  four  hundred  feet  of  cliff  at  our  backs. 

Hunger  made  us  the  more  wakeful,  but  we  could 
endure  fasting  well  enough  till  the   time  set  for  the 
"Trampiet'   "  coming  to  seek  us  next  morning. 
\-    **S'post    I    :  steamboat  sink  in  storm,  too?"  asked 
Joe,  suddenly  voicing  my  fears. 

"Then  we'll  be  done  for,*'  I  said. 
'    * '  You  mean  we  starve  ? ' '  said  Joe. 

**  Or  drown  ourselves,"  said  I. 

"No  starve,"  he  replied  composedly.  **  No  drown 
ourself.  But  starve  bad  way  for  die.  I  sooner  be  kill 
dead,  me." 

With  grief  for  Crombie,  who  was  the  only  child  of  his 
parents,  with  heartsick  imaginings  of  their  woe  over 
his  death  ;  with  keen  though  unreasonable  self-blame 
for  having  left  him  in  the  launch  ;  with  fear  that  the 
**  Trampler  "  had  gone  down  with  my  other  comrades  ; 
and  with  bewildered  speculations  as  to  how  Joe  and  1 


V 


240 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


M 


could  escape  from  the  cliff  without  any  sort  of  boat,  I 
lay  gazing  at  the  stars  and  moon  in  sky  and  water  long 
after  the  Indian  was  sleeping  soundly.  We  sat  rather 
than  lay  close  together,  with  folds  of  the  tent  under 
and  over  us,  for  the  August  night  was  cool  beside  that 
vast  cold  lake. 

It  was  quarter  to  two  in  the  morning  by  my  watch 
when  I  was  roused  from  dozing  by  the  long  shriek  of  a 
steam  whistle. 

*'  Big  steamboat !  "  exclaimed  Joe,  wakening  with  a 
snort.  '  *  No — what  ?  "  for  the  note  was  unfamiliar, 
and  came  to  us  as  if  from  over  the  cliff. 

"  Not  the  'Trampler,'  anyway,"  I  said.  Just  then 
another  long  whistle  of  a  different  tone  came  as  from 
the  sky.  * '  Oh,  now  I  know  !  Those  are  two  railway 
trains  passing  near  here.  The  Canadian  Pacific  Rail- 
way runs  only  one  train  a  day  each  way,  and  they  meet 
near  here  in  the  night.  The  road  can't  be  more  than 
a  mile  back  of  the  cliff  top." 

*  *  So  !  S'  pose  we  go  on  him  cars  ?  * '  said  Joe,  with 
a  sort  of  hopeless  derision,  and  then  calmly  went  to 
sleep  again,  while  my  brain,  partly  deadened  by  doz- 
ing, wove  fantastic  plans  for  an  ascent  to  the  railway 
track. 

By  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  were  keenly  watch- 
ing the  southwestward  horizon,  hoping  to  see  the 
"Tram pier"  emerging  from  the  slow  wraiths  of  mist 
that  clung   to   the   water.     But   nine   o'clock   passe4 


\* 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


241 


without  sight  or  sound  of  her.  Then  we  were  quite 
sure  sue  had  been  caught  steaming  on  the  windward 
of  the  islands  and  sunk  by  the  tornado  of  yesterday. 

There  was  no  hope  that  another  vessel  of  any  kind 
would  be  soon  seen  on  that  little-frequented  coast. 
To  leave  the  cliff  or  ascend  it  seemed  ecjually  impossi- 
ble. Indeed,  death  seemed  so  inevitable  that  my  mind 
ceased  entirely  to  work  on  the  problem  of  escape  till 
about  noon.  Then,  as  occurred  at  each  meal  time, 
the  pangs  of  hunger  were  very  painful  and  suggestive. 
I  had  chewed  some  pieces  cut  from  the  tent  and  was 
going  down  the  cedar  for  a  drink  of  water,  when  it 
occurred  to  me  that  we  might  loosen  the  tree  from  its 
iron  clamps,  pull  it  up,  lay  its  top  against  the  cliff  and 
ascend  its  length  above  our  standing-place. 

Possibly  there  might  be  another  standing-place  over 
our  heads.  We  had  seen  none  from  below,  but  I  knew 
that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  small  indentations  on 
the  face  of  brown  granite  cliffs.  It  was  conceivable 
that  we  might  use  the  cedar  to  rise  from  standing-place 
to  standing-place  and  so  surmount  the  cliff;  but  Joe 
laughed  with  derision  when  I  explained  the  idea. 

**  Cedar  not  heavy  wood — no,"  he  said.  "  But  four 
men  not  lift  him — too  big."  This  was  true,  for  the 
cedar  was  fully  a  foot  in  diameter  at  the  butt. 

**  We  could  split  it,  Joe,"  said  I,  looking  at  the  axes. 

**  Split  easy — cedar  good  for  split — but  him  fast- 
ened." 

Q 


242 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


w 


"Knock  the  nuts  around  and  loosen  the  tree." 

**Hey!  Yes — by  gum!"  exclaimed  Joe.  "We 
split  him — we  tie  him  pieces  togedder  on  end — climb 
up,  mebby." 

At  this  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  elation,  but  at  once 
began  to  laugh  again. 

"Big  fool,  Joe  Wislemkoom,"  he  said.  "  How  we 
lift  him  long  if  can't  lift  him  short?  " 

"But  you  don't  quite  understand  the  plan,  Joe.  I 
don't  mean  to  tie  the  pieces  together  by  the  ends. 
We  can  lift  a  split  length  and  go  up  on  it,  and  perhaps 
find  one  standing-place  after  another  to  the  top. ' ' 

"  We  split  him  easy,"  exclaimed  Joe,  at  once  adopt- 
ing the  idea  and  going  to  work.  .  .      ■  .. 

It  was  the  work  of  half  an  hour  to  knock  the  nuts 
off  the  rock  bolts,  loosen  the  clamps  and  let  the  cedar 
fall.  We  stood  on  the  little  shoal  below,  cut  some 
poor  wedges  from  the  butt,  and  contrived  to  split 
the  trunk  into  six  almost  equal  pieces  before  two 
o' clocks 

Then,  with  little  difficulty,  we  stood  the  six  pieces 
on  end  side  by  side.  At  the  tips  they  were  little  more 
than  two-thirds  of  ordinary  fence-rail  size,  and  there- 
fore were  withy.  Nevertheless,  they  easily  supported 
Joe  as  he  climbed  up  to  the  dry  standing-place  again, 
using  for  footholds  the  stubs  of  branches  which  we  had 
been  careful  to  save  as  far  as  possible. 

I  went  up  after  Joe,  while  he  held  the  tips,  and  we 


\v 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


243 


we 


stood  again  together  more  than  fifty  feet  above  the 
lake,  but  not  now  hopeless  of  escape,  though  the 
enterprise  was  of  the  most  desperate  nature.  There 
might  be  no  standing-place  within  reach  above  us,  and 
if  there  were  many,  our  venture  would  become  more 
perilous  by  climbing  to  each  in  succession. 

Nothing  but  the  fe'^  'n^^        certainty  that  as  .c    or 
starvation    were    our   alternatives    nerved    us   for  the 
danger.     It   must  be   encountered   at   once,  lest  our 
strength  should  quite  depart  by  hunger.     So  we  pulled 
up  two  pieces  of  the  cedar  and  let  their  tops  touch  the 
wall  as  we  raised  them  straight  above  us. 
^   When  their  butts  were  firmly  placed  Joe  prepared  to 
ascend  again.     But  now  a  new  idea  struck  me  as  my 
eye  happened  to  fall  on  the  tent-ropes. 
**  Let  us  make  a  ladder,  Joe. "    , 
*'  How  make  ladder?     Nossin  make  him  wis." 
*  *  Pull  up  a  third  stick.     Cut   short  pieces  from  it. 
Tie  them  to  two  side  pieces  by  the  tent-ropes." 

"Good  bully  man  you!"  said  Joe,  and  went  to 
work  eagerly  on  the  plan. 

We  tied  a  crosspiece  between  the  butts,  another 
three  feet  higher,  a  third  about  the  height  of  our 
heads.  Joe  stood  on  this,  tied  a  fourth,  ascended  and 
tied  a  fifth,  and  so  rose  till  he  was  forty  feet  above  me. 
Then  he  stepped  off  with  a  cry  of  delight  on  another 
standing-place,  above  which  the  withy  tips  of  the  lad- 
der had  protruded  without;  our  seeing  this  from  below. 


244 


THE   HOLE   IN    THE   WALL 


\ 


"No — you  not  come.  I  make  more  ladder  first," 
shouted  Joe,  when  I  called  to  him  to  hold  the  tips  for 
my  ascent. 

So  out  he  came  again  with  his  ropes  to  tie  on  more 
rungs — which  almost  brought  us  to  destruction. 

The  tips  were  now  unsupported  by  the  wall,  for  the 
ladder,  at  about  forty  feet  above  me,  rested  against  the 
second  standing-place.  With  some  sudden  movement 
of  Joe's  on  the  upper  part,  both  butts  sprang  outward 
quickly.  Another  six  inches  and  they  would  have  been 
off  my  standing  place.  I  flung  myself  down  to  get  a 
lower  grip,  clung  desperately,  and  screamed,  "Joe, 
come  down ! " 

He  sprang  before  my  words  reached  him  and  safely 
reached  the  rounding  shelf  near  him,  but  his  jump  was 
so  sudden  as  to  spring  the  tips  outward.  It  seemed 
that  the  ladder  must  fall  backward.  I  jumped  up  to 
get  a  higher  grip.  I  pulled  hard,  but  I  knew  I  was 
pulling  in  vain.  I  dared  not  lean  out  farther,  and  was 
about  to  let  go,  when  the  ladder's  slant  was  suddenly 
reversed.  Joe  had  flung  a  tent  rope  so  cleverly  that 
the  wooden  "clamp"  at  its  end  had  whirled  round 
one  side  of  the  ladder  and  practically  tied  the  rope,  so 
that  he  could  jerk  the  ladder  back  to  him. 

Again  he  held  the  tips  while  I  ascended.  We  now 
stood  about  ninety  feet  above  the  gulls,  which  had 
resumed  their  fishing  below,  but  it  seemed  improbable 
that  we  could  go  any  higher.  \ 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


245 


SO 


This  standing-place  was  more  truly  a  ledge  than  that 
which  we  had  left  below,  but  it  was  much  narrower, 
and  its  top  rounded  outward  and  downward.  The 
difficulty  was  to  find  a  spot  where  the  ladder  would 
stand  under  a  man's  weight.  To  give  it  a  sufficient  slant 
inward  would  be  to  place  the  butts  half-way  out  on  the 
rounding  slope.  This  had,  indeed,  a  rough  surface, 
but  I  dreaded  lest  the  springing  of  the  ladder  under 
Joe  should  throw  it  from  its  hold. 

But  desperate  exigencies  force  men  to  desperate 
trials.  We  lifted  the  ladder ;  we  set  it  against  the  wall ; 
I  crouched  at  its  butts  and  clasped  them.  Once  more 
Joe  went  up  safely,  and  now  stood  almost  sixty  feet 
above  me. 

Up  to  this  time  giddiness  had  not  troubled  me ;  but 
no  sooner  did  I  begin  to  climb  after  Joe  than  fear  came 
cold  to  my  heart.  There  was  now,  I  reflected,  nothing 
to  prevent  the  butts  slipping  except  their  friction  and 
Joe's  insecure  hold  on  the  withy  tips. 

Instead  of  waiting  to  get  control  of  my  nerves,  I 
pressed  upward  in  an  access  of  nervous  excitement. 
The  enormous  mass  of  the  precipice  now  weighed  on 
my  wild  imagination,  and  I  quivered  on  the  quivering 
ladder.  Throwing  back  my  head  to  look  up  at  Joe, 
I  saw  the  face  of  the  cliff  rising,  it  seemed,  to  the 
infinite  blue.  There  I  stopped,  while  a  deepened 
sense  of  the  horrors  of  the  venture  astonished  my  reel- 
ing brain. 


246 


THE   HOLE   IN    THE  WALL 


Perhaps  faintness  from  hunger  brought  the  giddiness. 
The  voi'^  behind  me  swooned,  I  felt,  with  expectancy 
of  my  fall.  Still  I  clung  to  the  ladder ;  all  my  remain- 
sanity  was  as  if  centered  in  my  grasp- 
hands.  They  held  me,  though  my 
^«ajy  arms  were  extend- 

.  j  ed  at  full  length 
and  my  body  lean- 
ing backward  from 
the  feet. 

I  could  no  lon- 
ger control  the 
muscles  of  my 
neck.  My  head 
fell  backward 
limply,  as  I  heard 
Joe  shriek  at  me 
some  words  that  I 
did  not  distin- 
guish. Echoes  of 
his  voice  seemed 
to  come  from  the 
water,  I  clutched 
harder ;  *  the  faint  feeling  passed  ;  I  vehemently  pulled 
to  bring  my  front  close  to  the  ladder  again. 

At  that  sudden  jerk  the  butts  moved ;  the  full  strain 
of  the  ladder  and  my  weight  came  on  Joe's  hands. 
For  one  moment  I  was  aware  that  the  lips  ran  pressing 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


247 


against  the  wall  as  the  butts  shot  outward  ;  then  I  was 
launched  through  the  air,  as  if  face  down  and  feet  first 
on  a  toboggan,  into  the  deep  of  Lake  Superior. 

Souse  !  And  still  I  clung  to  the  ladder.  It  must 
have  much  broken  the  force  of  my  fall,  for  I  felt 
neither  battered  nor  breathless.  For  only  a  few  sec- 
onds was  I  under ;  then  my  head  was  in  air,  and  1 
floating  easily  on  the  ladder. 

"There — there  he  is  !  "  I  heard  shouting  near  me, 
and  then  splashing  oars.  Turning  I  saw  Captain  Lount 
and  four  men  in  the  "Trampler's"  gig. 

*'Are  you  hurt?"  shouted  Lount. 

"No,  I'm  all  right." 

"Where's  Mr.  Crombie  and  the  launch?" 

"  Dead — sunk  ! "  I  cried  ;  and  being  hauled  aboard, 
explained  the  yesterday's  disaster. 

"It's  terrible — terrible  !  "  said  Lount.  "  How  am 
I  to  face  his  father  ?  Why  did  I  give  in  to  the  boy  ? 
He  would  run  that  launch  himself  ! ' ' 

"Where's  the  '  Trampler '  ?  "  I  asked. 

"The  *  Trampler' s'  ashore  in  the  lee  of  the  Slate 
Islands.  I  was  caught  outside  in  that  infernal  squall, 
and  ran  around  in  the  mist  of  it  till  her  nose  went  on  a 
shoal.  We'll  get  her  off"  all  right,  though.  I  sent  two 
men  up  to  Red  Rock  for  a  tug  this  morning,  and  then 
pulled  over  to  look  you  up. 

"  Queer  we  didn't  see  you,"  said  I. 

"I  didn't  see  you   till  we  were  right   here.     We 


w 


248 


THE    HOLE    IN    THE   WALL 


\  \ 
\ 


pulled  close  to  the  face  of  the  clifT,  fearing  to  miss  the 
Hole  in  the  Wall.     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"Just  there — not  a  hundred  yards  away." 

"  Well,  ril  take  a  look  at  it.     Pull  away,  boys." 

''  But  Joe  !  "  said  I.  **  We've  got  to  get  him  off," 
and  I  looked  up  to  the  poor  fellow,  more  than  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  us. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  Joe.  Joe,  how  are  you  going  to  get 
down  ?  "  shouted  Lount. 

"  Do'  know.     Jump,  if  I  got  to." 

As  he  yelled,  he  swung  the  three  tent-ropes  still  re- 
maining in  his  hand. 

"What's  he  got  in  his  hand?"  Lount  asked  me. 
"Ropes,  eh?  Oh,  then  we'll  get  him  down  all  right. 
I  fetched  a  lot  of  tools  and  rope,  in  case  something 
had  gone  wrong  with  the  launch." 

"Joe!"  he  shouted.  "Untwist  those  lopes,  then 
tie  the  pieces  together — you  understand? — niake  long 
cord." 

"  No  good,"  shouted  Joe.  "  Can't  come  down  all 
same." 

"Not  on  that  rope;  but  I'll  send  you  up  another 
when  you  give  me  the  end  of  the  long  cord  you'll 
make. ' ' 

"  No  good — no  way  for  tie  rope  here." 

"I'll  send  you  up  a  cold  chisel  and  a  hammer. 
You'll  drill  a  hole  and  leave  the  chisel  in  it  to  hold  the 
rope  end.     Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 


THE    HOLE    IN   THit  WALL 


249 


a 


1 


**  Good  bully  man  you  !  "  shouted  Joe,  in  his  favorite 
expression  of  approval. 

He  was  saved  after  about  an  hour  and  a  half  of 
work,  and  still  the  sun  was  an  hour  high. 

"While  we're  here,"  said  Lount,  *' we  may  as  well 
have  a  look  into  the  Hole  in  the  Wall,"  and  away  we 
went,  while  Joe  was  devouring  food  with  savage  satis- 
faction. 

The  Hole  in  the  Wall !  Conceive  a  canal  sixty  feet 
wide,  between  granite  walls  four  hundred  feet  high. 
Imagine  the  chasm  to  turn  sharply  to  the  left  at  less 
than  a  hundred  yards  from  the  lake  front,  and  then, 
less  sharply,  to  the  right  within  sixty  yards  farther. 
Conceive  this  turn  to  disclose  a  straight  waterway  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  terminating  in  a  sheer 
waterfall  or  spray  fall  four  hundred  feet  high.  Such  is 
the  Hole  in  the  Wall. 

But  there  was  something  more  amazing  than  the 
singular  cleft  itself.  As  we  neared  the  fall  I  saw  in  the 
dim  chasm  what  I  verily  believed,  for  a  full  minute,  to 
be  the  ghost  of  poor  Crombie.  The  figure  was  bare- 
headed, but  otherwise  fully  clad.  It  moved  to  and  fro 
on  a  low  foreshore  near  the  spray  fall,  and  seemed 
wrin^ng  its  hands  in  distraction. 

*.*  Crombie  !  Crombie  !  Is  it  you  ?  "   I  screamed. 

I  suppose  the  sound  of  our  oars  had  been  previously 
drowned  by  the  noise  of  the  cataract.  At  my  voice  he 
turned,  and  instantly  took  a  composed  air. 


250 


THE  HOLE  IN  THE  WALL 


"Certainly  it's  me,"  said  Crombie  ;  ''or  I,  if  you 
insist  on  having  a  starved  man  grammatical.  Can't  you 
see  ?     Have  you  got  any  grub  aboard  ?  " 

*'  How  on  earth  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"Swept  in  by  the  wind  and  current  yesterday,"  he 
said.      **  Hurry  up  with  that  grub." 

"When  I  saw  the  squall  coming,"  said  he,  between 
mouthfuls,  as  we  rowed  for  the  Slate  Islands,  "I  put 
on  three  cork  jackets.  In  about  five  minutes  the  sea 
swamped  her,  and  I  just  tried  to  swim  against  the 
waves.  It  didn'  t  seem  a  very  long  time  before  I  found 
myself  being  hurried  along  by  a  current  between  high 
cHffs,  and  I  knew  I  must  be  in  the  Hole  in  the  Wall. 
There  I've  been  ever  since.  The  trouble  was  to  find 
a  landing-place.  But  the  water  was  quite  calm  inside, 
and  at  last  I  got  to  where  you  found  me.  There  I  took 
off  all  my  clothes,  dried  them,  put  them  on  and  waited. 
Now  tell  me  what  you  and  Joe  did  on  the  cliff,  for  I'm 
sure  your  canoe  was  smashed,  or  else  you'd  have  gone 
exploring  for  my  remains." 


0 


AN  INCIDENT  AT  THE  WORLD'S 

FAIR 


-;>• 


"ly  TAUD  BRUCE,  of  our  party  at  the  World's 
IVX  Columbian  Fair,  returned  to  our  lodgings  one 
August  evening  with  shining  eyes.  Truly  they  do  al- 
ways shi  e,  but  this  shining,  or  perhaps  a  telltale  flush 
of  divine  pity  on  her  fair  face,  seemed  of  peculiar  sig- 
'  (  nificance  to  those  who  know  her  best.  Up  spoke  her 
aunt.  Miss  Forsyth  : 

**  Who  is  it,  Maud  ? — for  I'm  sure  you've  been  giving 
charity  to  somebody.  Fancy  !  she's  found  a  deserving 
person  in  Chicago  !"  and  the  old  maiden  lady  looked 
around  on  us  with  affected  amazement. 

Maud,  I  may  as  well  say  here,  is  nineteen.  Her 
brother  John,  who  is  at  once  a  sportsman  and  a  bit  of  a 
poet,  has  described  her  on  two  occasions  in  my  hearing. 
Once  he  said  she  was  smart  as  a  weasel  and  soft  as  mush  ; 
the  other  time  he  spoke  very  tenderly:  "She  goes 
through  our  coarse  world  blessing  it  by  her  pure  looks, 
her  gentle  presence,  her  flowing  goodness.  She's  a  sort 
of  modern  heavenly  Una,  without  any  milk-white  lamb. 
But  Maud's  smart,  mind  you,"  ended  John,  as  if  in 
vindication. 


252 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE   WORLD  S    FAIR 


I 


I* 


Well,  this  young  lady  has  an  independent  income  so 
large  that  she  might  almost  be  called  rich.  It  came  to 
her  but  a  year  ago,  no  matter  how,  after  she  had  taught 
school  for  ten  months.  This  occupation  pleased  her 
so  well  that  she  seriously  thought  of  continuing  it. 

**  But  finally,"  says  John,  **she  concluded  to  devote 
the  rest  of  her  life  and  most  of  her  money  to  deserving 
persons  ;  washerwomen  with  drunken  husbands,  news- 
boys with  delicate  lungs,  one-legged  veterans,  and  so 
on.  You  bet  none  of  them  fool  her,  either.  She  soon 
detects  humbugs — oh,  yes,  Maud's  smart.  Won't  lend 
me  a  dollar  ;  says  I'm  too  extravagant." 

When  I  add  that  Miss  Maud  is  quite  brave,  most  in- 
genious, energetic,  indomitable,  and  that  nobody  be- 
longing to  her  ever  thinks  that  she  is  not  capable  of 
going  alone  and  safely  in  the  worst  quarters  of  the  North 
End  of  Boston,  you  may  understand  that  she  "flew 
round  the  great  exhibition  on  her  own  hook, ' '  as  John 
said,  pretty  much  as  matter  of  course. 

**  ]^Ione  of  us  can  see  anything  satisfactorily  if  we  go 
mumpsing  round  together,  Kke  a  party  of  sheep,"  said 
Maud.  This  was  true,  and  our  habit  was  to  scatter  on 
entering  the  grounds,  go  each  as  we  pleased  all  day, 
and  meet  in  the  evening  for  dinner,  either  on  the  Plais- 
ance  or  at  our  lodgings,  as  might  be  previously  agreed. 

We  were  lodging  at  Cobb  Hall,  Chicago  University, 
just  across  Fifty-ninth  Street  from  the  Plaisance,  and 
almost  opposite  the  great  Ferris  Wheel. 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


253 


Maud,  at  her  aunt's  quizzing  question,  smiled  happily, 
but  stood  silent,  with  an  air  of  having  been  detected, 
for  she  does  not  love  to  boast  of  her  good  designs  ;  but 
now  she  was  almost  too  full  of  her  new  idea  to  conceal  it. 

''Come  now,  Maud,  own  up  like  a  little  man,"  said 
John.  "Who  is  it?  You've  been  giving  money  away 
to  somebody — though  you  know  how  sorely  I  need 
some  diamonds  and  other  trifles  like  those  at  Tiffany's 
show  in  the  Liberal  Arts  Building." 

**  Nonsense,  Jack,"  said  Maud. 

**  Oh  come,  sis,  don't  hide  your  light  under  a  bushel. 
Who  was  he  ?  What  were  his  name  and  station,  age 
and  race  ?  Or  was  it  a  she  ?  If  so,  how  old  ?  Was 
she  very  ragged  ?  Hau  she  more  than  one  borrowed 
baby  for  the  occasion  ?  Or  did  she  say  her  mother  was 
ninety-two,  without  a  soul  to  help  her,  and  she  bed- 
ridden, with  a  large  washing  to  do  this  afternoon  ? 
Come,  own  up — give  us  all  the  particulars  of  the  rob- 
bery.    Who  plundered  you  ?  " 

*'He  wouldn't  take  any,"  said  Maud,  blushing. 

**He!  Oh,  is  it  that  interesting  young  divinity 
student  that  waits  on  our  table  downstairs  ?  Well,  that 
beats  my  time.     Think  of  a  divinity  student ' ' 

''Jack  !  As  if  I  would  dare  to  offer  him  money  ! 
Dear  me, 'I  wish  it  wouldn't  hurt  his  feelings,  though  ! 
tt  would  be  so  good  to  help  him  through  his  course  ! ' ' 

"  Who,  then  ?"  asked  her  aunt. 

"Well,  nobody,"  said  Maud,  affecting  pettishness. 


254 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS   FAIR 


**  Or,  if  you  must  know  all  about  it,  his  name  is  Adam 
Franks." 

**  Who  on  earth  is  Adam  Franks?  " 

"Why,  that  boy  who  usually  drives  us  down  to  the 
Intramural  entrance.  He's  never  been  inside  the  fair- 
grounds !     Hadn'  t  you  even  found  out  his  name  ?  * ' 

**Pooh,  no  !  Catch  me  asking  him  questions — that 
grumpy  fellow  !  "  said  John.  **  I  didn't  think  he  could 
say  anything  except  '  Pare  ten  cents '  and  *  G'lang  ! '  " 

**He's  not  grumpy — not  exactly,"  said  Maud. 
"He's  a  very  nice,  good  boy,  I'm  sure.  I  was  the 
only  passenger  coming  up  just  now,  so  I  asked  him  if 
he'd  seen  the  view  from  the  Fenls  Wheel.  *  No,  I 
aint,'  he  said.  'But  you  ought  to.  It's  one  of  the 
best  things,'  I  told  him.  A  grim  sort  of  smile  came  on 
his  face,  and  then  he  seemed  to  choke  a  little. 

"So  I  remembered,"  went  on  Maud,  "  that  he  was 
driving  a  one-horse  carriage  for  a  living,  and  couldn't 
be  making  a  great  deal ;  for  there  isn't  a  word. of  truth 
in  all  the  newspaper  stories  about  cab-drivers  being  ex- 
tortionate here  ;  and  I  said,  *  Won' t  you  let  me  treat 
you  to  the  Ferris  Wheel,  please?  You've  driven  us  so 
nicely  for  a  whole  fortnight  ! '  and  I  held  out  a  fifty- 
cent  piece. ' ' 

"And  he  wouldn't  take  it?"  queried  Jack  incred- 
ulously. 

"  No  ;  he  pushed  away  the  money,  and  wouldn't 
look  at  me  for  a  whole  minute  or  so.     Then  he  said. 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


255 


'You're  very  kind,  miss,  but  1  couldn't  take  it.'  I 
told  him  I  was  sorry  if  I'd  hurt  his  feelings  ;  I  didn't 
mean  to.  I  suppose  he  drove  a  whole  block  before  he 
turned  around  and  said,  'You  didn't  hurt  my  feelings, 
miss  ;  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  I  haven't  been  inside 
the  Fair  at  all' 

"Think  of  it!"  exclaimed  Maud,  flushing  and 
standing  looking  out  at  the  sunset  with  half-formed 
tears  in  her  gray  eyes.  "That  boy  is  about  fifteen, 
I  should  think.  He's  naturally  hungry  to  see  every- 
thing and  hear  everything.  He'd  been  driving  visitors 
up  and  down,  up  and  down,  nearly  all  day  long  for 
almost  four  months — driving  them  nearly  the  whole 
length  of  the  Plaisance,  right  along  side  of  its  high 
board  fence.  Think  of  that  boy — how  eager  he  must 
be  to  see  all  that  he's  heard  of  and  caught  glimpse  of! 
And  he's  never  been  inside  the  ground  once." 

**  Lots  of  time  yet.  I  wasn't  inside  until  two  weeks 
ago.  Think  of  it !  think  of  it !  "  mimicked  Jack,  "and 
lend  me  twenty^ dollars,  Maud. ' ' 

Maud  seemed  as  if  she  did  not  hear  her  brother's 
mockery. 

"The  poor  fellow  !"  she  went  on  quickly.  "All 
the  fascinating  sounds  and  sights  he's  been  condemned 
to  hear  from  just  outside  that  great  boys'  paradise  ! 
The  bright  diadem  of  the  Administration  dome  shining 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  and  he's  never  seen  the  beauty 
beneath  !    He's  heard  the  bawling  of  those  unspeakable 


V 


256 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE    WORLD  9    FAIR 


Turks  all  day,  that  wooden-nerved  Chinaman  beforle  the 
joss-house  incessantly  inviting,  the  whang  and  l)ang  of 
drums  and  tom-toms  ;  he  must  have  seen  the  heads  of 
the  herd  of  Arab  dromedaries  swaying  in  procession  ; 
he  has  listened  day  after  day  and  for  hours  a  day  to  the 
Mussulman  muezzin  proclaiming  Allah  il  Allah  and  all 
the  rest,  telling  that  God  is  great  and  good— 


>> 


(< 


Maud  Bruce,  star  lecturer.  Terms,  one  hundred 
dollars  an  evening,"  interrupted  Jack,  in  a  low  tone. 
But  Maud  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"The  Ferris  Wheel  revolving  before  him,  a  great  web 
of  fairy  iron  by  day,  and  such  an  enchanting,  enor- 
mous fire-wheel  by  night,  and  he's  never  even  seen 
how  people  get  into  the  cars  !  "  said  Maud.  "Those 
lovely  ostriches,  the  Dahomey  people,  the  Eskimos  and 
their  skin  kayaks,  the  turrets  and  towers  of  the  German 
villages,  the  distant  bands,  the  cute  Japanese — he  has 
heard  of  them  all  and  has  never  seen  them ' ' 

*  *  Sooner  keep  his  fifty  cents, ' '  said  Jack. 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Jack!"  Maud  turned  on 
him  sharply.  ^*^ Mean  nonsense  too!  Nobody  that 
had  fifty  cents  to  spare  could  keep  it  rather  than  go 
into  the  Fair  ;  you  know  that  perfectly  well.  The  boy 
has  some  good  reason  ;  I  know  he  has.  He  is  denying 
himself  for  some  good  purpose  ;  I'm  sure  he  is,  and 
I'm  going  to  find  it  out ;  see  if  I  don't.  And  I'm 
going  to  show  him  that  show — laugh  away,  Jack,  but  I 
am!     You'll  see!" 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


257 


"But  Maud,  dear,"  said  her  aunt,  **you  can't  be 
expected  to  pay  every  poor  person's  entrance  fee.  If 
he  won't  go  in,  he  won't ;  that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

**  You  think  so,  aunt.  Well,  my  plan  is  not  to  fold 
my  hands  in  this  world  and  comfort  my  soul  with  the 
drug  nothing-can-be-done. " 

**  Maud's  a  rustler  !  "  said  Jack  emphatically. 

"Why,  I  couldn't  go  in  again — not  to  see  the  won- 
der of  the  peristyle  and  ejxeat  plaza  illuminated — not 
even  to  see  the  Russian  pictures — nothing.  I  just 
couldn't  go  in  and  think  of  that  poor  boy  hungry  out- 
side for  a  sight  of  what  will  never  be  in  the  world  again 
after  a  few  weeks.     I  must  get  him  in. " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Maud,  if  he 
won't  go?  "   quizzed  Jack. 

"I'm  going  to  sleep  on  it,"  said  Maud,  "and  in  the 
morning  I'll  have  a  plan.  Good-night,  all.  Good- 
night, aunty  ! ' ' 

Next  morning  there  was  no  Maud  at  breakfast  with 
us.  The  young  divinity  student  reported  that  she  had 
breakfasted  at  sharp  seven.  Her  sleepy  aunt  had  not 
heard  her  leave  their  * '  study  and  two-room ' '  suite. 
Evidently  she  was  *  *  rustling, ' '  as  Jack  said. 

Our  first  glimpse  of  her  plan  was  gained  from  Joe 
Franks,  Adam's  younger  brother,  who  was  often  on  the 
front  seat  with  Adam,  and  who  was  accustomed  to  drive 
their  vehicle  when  the  elder  boy  went  home  for  dinner, 
or  supper,  or  an  occasional  hour's  rest.     Joe  was  a 


258 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


stolider-looking  boy  than  Adam,  but  still  bright  enough 
to  remember  very  clearly  anything  to  which  he  had 
listened  with  interest. 

"I'm  taking  my  brother's  place  all  day  to-day,"  Joe 
explained  to  our  queries.  "Adam  was  hired  by  a 
young  lady." 

'  *  What  for  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  To  wheel  her  in  one  of  them  wheeled  chairs.  She 
said  she  was  bound  to  be  wheeled  all  day.  Adam 
■didn't  want  to  go — he's  kind  of  cranky,  anyhow,  afraid 
somebody' 11  get  him  to  take  charity — but  the  young 
lady  soon  showed  him  he  wasn'  t  sensible. ' ' 

* '  What  did  she  say  ?  "   I  asked. 

**  'Well,'  says  she,  'I'm  sorry  you  won't  wheel  me. 
I  feel  as  if  I  know  you  after  your  driving  me  up  and 
down  about  twice  a  day  for  two  weeks.  And  now  I'll 
have  to  hire  a  man  that  I  don't  know  to  wheel  me, 
and  it  will  cost  me  just  the  same  as  if  you'd  push  the 
wheel'  " 

"  And  what  did  your  brother  have  to  say,  to  thp<^  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Forsyth. 

"Well,  he  says,  says  he,  'I'd  like  to  wheel  you, 
miss,  only  I  don't  understand  how  it  can  be  that  it 
will  cost  you  just  the  same.'  And  says  the  young  lady, 
*  It's  this  way.  A  wheeled  chair  is  twenty-five  cents 
an  hour  without  a  guide  to  wheel  it.  I  can't  wheel 
myself,  can  I?  So  I've  got  to  pay  a  guide  if  you  won't 
come.     The  guide  will  cost  me   twenty-five  cents  an 


/    ! 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


259 


it 


hour.  Now  I'll  pay  you  the  same.  I've  made  up  my 
mind,'  she  says,  '  to  be  inside  from  the  first  thing  this 
morning  till  the  last  at  night,  for  once.  We  get  in  at 
eight  o'  clock  say,  and  we  stay  till  eleven  at  night.  That' s 
fifteen  hours ;  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  you 
make,  and  it  doesn't  cost  me  one  cent  more  than  if  you 
won't  do  me  the  favor.  I  think  you  might,'  says  she. 
I  almost  thought  she  was  going  to  cry, ' '  Joe  concluded. 

We  all  laughed  with  delight,  seeming  to  see  Maud, 
slim,  eager,  beautiful,  shrewdly  cozening  the  independ- 
ent boy  into  a  day  of  enjoyment ;  for  the  work  of  wheel- 
ing her  in  one  of  those  chairs  would  be  nothing  to  a 
big,  sturdy  fellow  like  Adam. 

'  *  And  so  he  agreed  ?  * '  said  Jack. 

"Well,  I  left  him  puzzling  over  it  down  there  at  the 
Fifty-ninth  Street  entrance,"  said  Joe.  "There  were 
some  passengers  just  come  in  by  train  wanting  to  be 
drove  up  here,  and  when  I  got  back  the  young  lady 
and  Adam  was  gone. '  * 

"  Have  you  ever  been  inside  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Twict,"  said  Joe.  "Adam  was  bound  I  should; 
he  wouldn'  t  go  himself.  You  see  we  hire  this  rig  and 
two  horses  for  change  about,  and  some  days  we  don't 
make  much  more'n  enough  to  clear  ourselves.  Besides, 
there's  my  sister  ;  and  Adam  made  up  his  mind  he 
wouldn't  go  in  at  all  unless  we  could  get  ahead  enough 
for  him  to  take  her  in.  She  ain't  able  to  get  about 
alone.     We  all  live  with  our  aunt  and  we  pay  her  for 


26o 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


the  housekeeping.  Alice  earns  her  share  ;  she  knits 
things,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  But  she  couldn't 
go  in  without  somebody." 

What  this  meant  we  did  not  then  dis*  over,  for  Joe's 
tale,  which  I  have  much  condensed  in  this  mere  report 
of  occurrences,  had  occupied  us  until  he  delivered  us 
at  the  Fifty-ninth  Street  entrance  to  the  Fair. 

About  half- past  twelve  o'clock  that  day  our  party  of 
five — we  were  six  with  Maud — had  met  by  agreement 
on  a  bench  near  the  southeast  corner  of  the  noble 
California  building.  We  were  about  to  rise  and  go  in 
there  for  lunch  on  the  roof  when  Maud's  clear  voice 
startled  us.  She  was  not  visible,  however.  Rising  and 
peering  around  the  corner,  we  saw  her  in  a  two-seated 
wheeled  chair,  with  Adam  Franks  beside  it.  Their 
backs  were  toward  us.  Another  girl  sat  beside  Maud, 
a  pale,  thin  girl,  in  a  woebegone  hat. 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  lunch  with  you  right  here,"  said 
Maud  decidedly.  "I  know  you  have  brought  plenty 
for  three.  I'll  just  jump  out  and  buy  a  little  fruit ; 
that  will  be  my  share.  Wait  here  till  I  come  back, 
please. ' ' 

Out  she  sprang  and  away  she  went  into  the  California 
building.  The  eyes  of  the  two  she  left  followed  her 
fondly.  We  were  guilty  of  listening  to  their  talk  during 
her  absence. 

"Ain't  she  just  an  angel?  "  said  the  girl. 

"Beats  all  how  smart  she  is  too,"  said   the  boy. 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


261 


"Why,  she's  showed  us  more  this  morning  !  Seems 
to  know  all  about  everything.  And  we'll  see  the  illu- 
minations and  the  boats  of  all  nations  going  round  to- 
night— and — and  everything. ' ' 

"And  to  think  it  doesn't  cost  a  cent  for  me  to  be 
wheeled, — not  a  cent ;  your  pay  for  wheeling  her  more 
than  pays  my  seat  in  the  double  chair." 

"It  only  costs  us  one  dollar  for  our  entrances;  I 
couldn't  let  her  pay  that — could  I,  Alice  ?  " 

"Of  course  you  couldn't ;  and  wasn't  she  nice  not 
going  on  trying  to  get  you  to  let  her  pay  for  us  coming 
in  ?  Why,  we  could  afford  a  dollar  for  coming  in,  easy. 
The  thing  was  that  I  couldn't  go  round  at  all  except 
you  got  me  a  wheeled  chair,  and  we  couldn't  afford 
that,  and  think  of  the  way  she  fixed  it — so  smart — it's 
really  only  your  time  gone  for  one  day — and  Joe  saves 
ihat,  him  driving;  and  we're  going  to  j  everything 
right  along  till  the  last  thing  to-night,"  ended  the  girl, 
with  a  sort  of  ecstasy. 


Dear  Maud  !  We  now  understood  her  whole  shrewd 
plan — everything  except  how  she  had  contrived  to  get 
a  double-seated  chair  without  a  guide,  the  rule  being 
that  only  single-seated  chairs  were  hired  without  guides. 
In  fact,  she  had  privately  bargained  to  pay  as  much  for 
the  chair  alone  as  chair  and  guide  would  have  cost,  bwt 
Adam  did  not  know  of  this  proceeding,  which  was  es- 
sential to  her  scheme. 


262 


AN    INCIDENT    AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


\ 


The  girl  with  Maud  was  certainly  Adam's  sister,  who 
seemed  andy  indeed,  was  a  cripple.  Later  we  learned 
that  Adam  had  balked  in  the  morning  after  Joe  left, 
balked  on  the  ground  that  he  had  vowed  to  himself  he 
would  not  see  the  Fair  without  his  sister. 

Upon  this  Maud  had  persuaded  him  to  walk  with 
her  over  the  little  distance  to  Fifty-seventh  Street  where 
the  small  house  of  the  orphaned  crippled  girl  and  her 
two  brothers  stood.  Maud  had  then  unfolded  her 
scheme  for  a  double  chair,  Adam's  pay  for  wheeling  her 
to  pay  for  Alice's  seat  in  the  chair.  The  housekeeping 
aunt  highly  approved  of  the  project,  and  at  once  set 
about  preparing  lunch  for  two. 

So  Maud  had  contrived  to  save  their  sense  of  inde- 
pendence and  yet  enabled  them  to  see  the  great  show  at 
her  expense.  A  fellow  hackdriver  had  driven  the  cripple 
over  to  the  Fifty-ninth  Street  entrance,  and  scorned 
to  charge  fare.  Adam  could  accept  this  from  a  brother 
whip,  because  he  knew  he  might  repay  the  favor  in  kind. 


Soon  Maud  came  out  of  the  California  building  with 
pears,  peaches,  candy,  and  a  large  bottle  of  orange 
sherbet.  The  others  could  never  have  suspected  what 
her  share  of  that  lunch  cost.  She  took  her  seat  in  the 
chair.  We  kept  out  of  sight.  Adam  wheeled  them 
away  and  we  saw  no  more  of  our  pretty  philanthropist 
until  very  late  in  the  evening. 

Then  she  came  into  her  aunt's  study,  where  we  werte 


AN    INCIDENT   AT   THE   WORLDS    FAIR 


263 


all  awaiting  her,  and  her  face,  tired  though  she  was, 
was  as  the  face  of  the  angel  in  the  cathedral  east  window 
when  the  high  sun  pours  as  it  were  the  glory  of  God 
through  it  down  into  the  dim  aisle. 

Jack  rose,  put  his  arms  around  his  sister,  and  kissed 
her  reverently  on  the  brow. 

*  *  May  God  bless  you  forever,  dear  !  We  know 
pretty  well  what  you've  been  doing  to-day,"  and  then 
we  related  what  we  had  heard  and  seen.  She  modestly 
told  us  the  rest. 

The  last  thing  she  said  that  night  was  a  strange  thing. 
I  think  I  still  hear  it  sounding  clearly  and  sweetly  along 
the  long  and  gloomy  corridors  of  the  great  University 
Hall: 

"I've  been  exceedingly  happy  to-day — I  am  now. 
They  were  so  happy.  O  God — bless  God  for  doing  so 
much  for  me  !  " 


■v;; 


\\ 


DOUR  DAVIE'S  DRIVE 


PINNAGER  was  on  snow-shoes,  making  a  bee-line 
toward  his  field  of  sawlogs  dark  on  the  ice  ot 
Wolverine  River.  He  crossed  shanty  roads,  trod  heaps 
of  brush,  forced  his  way  through  the  tops  of  felled 
pines,  jumped  from  little  crags  into  seven  feet  of  snow 
— Pinnager's  men  called  him  **a  terror  on  snow- 
shoes."  They  never  knew  the  direction  from  which 
he  might  come — an  ignorance  which  kept  them  all  busy 
with  axe,  saw,  cant-hook,  and  horses  over  the  two 
square  miles  of  forest  comprising  his  **cut." 
.  It  was  "make  or  break"  with  Pinnager.  He  had 
contracted  to  put  on  the  ice  all  the  logs  he  might 
make ;  for  every  one  left  in  the  woods  he  must  pay 
stumpage  and  forfeit.  Now  his  axemen  had  done  such 
wonders  that  Pinnager's  difficulty  was  to  get  his  logs 
hauled  out. 

Teams  were  scarce  that  winter.  The  shanty  was 
eighty  miles  from  any  settlement ;  ordinary  teamsters 
were  not  eager  to  work  for  a  small  speculative  jobber, 
who  might  or  might  not  be  able  to  pay  in  the  spring. 
But  Pinnager  had  some  extraordinary  teamsters,  sons 

of  farmers  who  neighbored  him  at  home,  and  who  were 
264 


V  r 


!t 


w 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


265 


sure  he  would  pay  them,   though  he  should  have  to 
mortgage  his  land.  •  ^ 

The  time  was  late  February ;  seven  feet  of  snow, 
crusted,  on  the  level ;  a  thaw  might  turn  the  whole 
forest  floor  to  slush;  but  if  the  weather  should  "hold 
hard"  for  six  weeks  longer,  Pinnager  might  make 
and  not  break.  Yet  the  chances  were  heavily  against 
.  him. 

Any  jobber  so  situated  would  feel  vexed  on  hearing 

that  one  of  his  best  teams  had  suddenly  been  taken 

out  of  his  service.     Pinnager,  crossing  a  shanty  road 

with  the  stride  of  a  moose,  was  hailed  by  Jamie  Stuart 

1 1 .      with  the  news  :   . 

*'Hey,  boss,  hold  on!  Davie  Mc Andrews'  leg's 
broke.  His  load  slewed  at  the  side  hill — log  catched 
him  against  a  tree." 

"Where  is  he ? "   shouted  Pinnager  furiously. 

"Carried  him  to  shanty." 
i  "Where  are  his  horses?" 

"Stable." 

"Tell  Aleck  Dunbar  to  go  get  them  out.  He  must 
take  Davie's  place — confound  the  lad's  carelessness  !  " 

"  Davie  says  no ;  won't  let  any  other  man  drive  his 
horses. ' ' 

"He  won't?  I'll  show  him!"  and  Pinnager  made 
a  bee-line  for  his  shanty.  He  was  choking  with  rage, 
all  the  more  so  because  he  knew  that  nothing  short  of 
breaking  Davie  McAndrews'   neck  would  break  Davie 


206 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


V 


?vIcAndrews'    stubbornness,    a    reflection    that    cooled 
Pinnager  before  he  reached  the  shanty. 

The  cook  was  busy  about  the  caboose  fire,  getting 
supper  for  fifty-three  devourers,  when  Pinnager  entered 
the  low  door,  and  made  straight  for  one  of  the  double 
tier  of  dingy  bunks.  There  lay  a  youth  of  eighteen, 
with  an  unusual  pallor  on  his  weather-beaten  face,  and 
more  than  the  usual  sternness  about  his  formidable  jaw. 

"  What's  all  this,  Davie  ?  You  sure  the  leg's  broke  ? 
I'd  'a  thought  you  old  enough  to  take  care." 

''You  would?"  said  Davie  grimly.  "And  your- 
self not  old  enough  to  have  yon  piece  of  road  mended 
— you  that  was  so  often  told  about  it ! " 

*  *  When  you  knew  it  was  bad,  the  more  you  should 
take  care. " 

**And  that's  true,  Pinnager.  But  no  use  in  you 
and  me  choppin'  words.  I'm  needing  a  doctor's 
hands  on  me.      Can  you  set  a  bone  ?  " 

•'No,  I'll  not  meddle  with  it.  Maybe  Jock  Scott 
can;  but  I'll  send  you  out  home.  A  fine  loss  I'll  be 
at !  Confound  it — and  me  like  to  break  for  want  of 
teams  ! " 

"I've  thocht  o'  yer  case,  Pinnager,"  said  Davie, 
with  a  curious  judicial  air.  "It's  sore  hard  for  ye  ;  I 
ken  that  well.  There's  me  and  me  feyther's  horses 
gawn  off,  and  you  countin'  on  us.  I  feel  for  ye,  so  I 
do.  But  I'll  no  put  you  to  ony  loss  in  sendin'  me 
out."  ) 


i  / 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


267 


*'  Was  you  thinking  to  tough  it  through  here,  Davie? 
No,  you'll  not  chance  it.  Anyway,  the  loss  would  be 
the  same — more,  too.  Why,  if  I  send  out  for  the 
doctor,  there's  a  team  off  for  full  five  days,  and  the 
expense  of  the  doctor!  Then  he  mightn't  come. 
Wow,  no  !  it'  >  out  you  must  go. " 

"What  else?"  said  Davie  coolly.  ** Would  I  He 
here  till  spring  and  my  leg  mendin'  into  the  Lord  kens 
what-like  shape  ?  Would  I  be  lettin'  ony  ither  drive 
the  horses  my  feyther  entrustit  to  my  lone  ?  Would  I 
be  dependin'  on  Mr.  Pinnager  for  keep,  and  me  idle  ? 
Man,  I'd  eat  the  horses'  heads  off  that  way;  at  home 
they'd  be  profit  to  my  feyther.  So  it's  me  and  them 
that  starts  at  gray  the  morn's  morn." 

"Alone!"   exclaimed  Pinnager. 

"  Just  that,  man.     What  for  no?" 

"You're  light-headed,  Davie.  A  lad  with  his  leg 
broke  can't  drive  three  days." 

"  Maybe  yes  and  maybe  no.      I'm  for  it,  onyhow." 

"  It  may  snow,  it  may " 

'  "Aye,  or  rain,  or  thaw,  or  hail;  the  Lord  s  no  in 
the  habit  o'  makin'  the  weather  suit  ony  but  himsel'. 
But  I'm  gawn  ;  the  cost  of  a  man  wi'  me  uld  eat  the 
wages  ye're  owing  my  feyther." 

"I'll  lose  his  team,  anyhow,"  said  Pinnager,  "and 
me  needing  it  bad.  A  driver  with  you  could  bring 
back  the  horses." 

"Nay,   my   feyther   will   trust   his   beasts   to   nane 


"-\ 


268 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


\ 


but  himsel'  or  his  sons.  But  I'll  have  yer  case  in 
mind,  Pinnager;  it's  a  sore  neecessity  you're  in.  I'll 
ask  my  feyther  to  send  back  the  team,  and  another  to 
the  tail  of  it ;  it's  like  that  Tam  and  Neil  will  be  home 
by  now.  And  I'll  spread  word  how  ye* re  needin' 
teams,  Pinnager;  it's  like  your  neighbors  will  send  ye 
in  sax  or  eight  spans. " 

*'Man,  that's  a  grand  notion,  Davie!  But  you 
can't  go  alone  ;  it's  clean  impossible." 

'Tmgawn,  Pinnager." 

"You  can't  turn  out  in  seven  feet  of  snow  when  you 
meet  loading.  You  can't  water  or  feed  your  horses. 
There's  forty  miles  the  second  day,  and  never  a 
stopping-place  ;  your  horses  can' t  stand  it. ' ' 

"Pm  wae  for  the  beasts,  Pinnager  ;  but  they'll  have 
no  force  but  to  travel  dry  and  hungry  if  that's  set  for 
them." 

"You're  bound  to  go?" 

"  Div  you  tak'  me  for  an  idjit  to  be  talkin'  and  no 
meanin'  it?  Off  wi'  ye,  man  !  The  leg's  no  exactly 
a  comfort  when  Pm  talkin'." 

* '  Why,  Davie,  it  must  be  hurting  you  terrible  ! ' ' 
Pinnager  had  almost  forgotten  the  broken  leg,  such  was 
Davie's  composure.  ' 

"It's  no  exactly  a  comfort,  I  said.  Get  you  gone, 
Pinnager ;  your  men  may  be  idlin' .  Get  you  gone, 
and  send  in  Jock  Scott,  if  he's  man  enough  to  handle 
my  leg.     I'm  wearyin'  just  now  for  my  ain  company." 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


269 


.  I 


As  Davie  had  made  his  programme,  so  it  stood.  His 
will  was  inflexible  to  protests.  Next  morning  at  dawn 
they  set  him  on  a  hay-bed  in  his  low,  unboxed  sleigh. 
A  bag  of  oats  supported  his  back ;  his  unhurt  leg  was 
braced  against  a  piece  of  plank  spiked  down,  Jock 
Scott  had  pulled  the  broken  bones  into  what  he 
thought  their  place,  and  tied  that  leg  up  in  splints  of 
cedar. 

The  sleigh  was  enclosed  by  stakes,  four  on  each  side, 
all  tied  together  by  stout  rope.  The  stake  at  Davie's 
right  hand  was  shortened,  that  he  might  hang  his  reins 
there.  His  water-bucket  was  tied  to  another  stake, 
and  his  bag  of  provisions  to  a  third.  He  was  warm  in 
a  coon-skin  coat,  and  four  pairs  of  blankets  under  or 
over  him. 

At  the  last  moment  Pinnager  protested:  **I  must 
send  a  man  to  drive.  It  sha'n't  cost  you  a  cent, 
Davie." 

"Thank  you,  kindly,  Pinnager,"  said  Davie  gravely. 
"  Pll  tell  that  to  your  credit  at  the  settlement.  But 
ye' re  needin'  all  your  help,  and  Pd  take  shame  to 
worsen  your  .hances.  My  feyther's  horses  need  no 
drivin'  but  my  word. ' ' 

Indeed,  they  would  *'gee,"  '*haw,"  or  **whoa" 
like  oxen,  and  loved  his  voice.  Round-barrelled,  deep- 
breathed,  hardy,  sure-footed,  active,  gentle,  enduring, 
brave,  and  used  to  the  exigencies  of  **bush  roads," 
they  would  take  him  through  safely  if  horses'  wit  could. 


270 


DOUR    DAVIES    DRIVE 


\ 


^v 


Davie  had  uttered  never  a  groan  after  those  involun- 
tary ones  forced  from  him  when  the  log,  driving  his  leg 
against  a  tree,  had  made  him  almost  unconscious. 
But  the  pain-sweat  stood  beaded  on  his  face  during  the 
torture  of  carrying  him  to  the  sleigh.  Not  a  sound 
from  his  lips,  though  !  They  could  guess  his  sufferings 
from  naught  but  his  hard  breathing  thiough  the  nose, 
that  horrible  sweat,  and  the  iron  set  of  his  jaw.  After 
they  had  placed  him,  the  duller  agony  that  had  kei)t 
him  awake  all  night  returned  ;  he  smiled  grimly,  and 
said,  "  "hat's  a  comfort. " 

He  11  eaten  and  drunk  heartily;  he  seemed 
SDoih^  sti;^ ;  but  what  if  his  sleigh  should  turn  over  at 
some  !-H;i'"g  placo  of  the  rude,  lonely,  and  hilly  forest 
road? 

As  Davie  chirrup'^d  to  his  horses  and  was  off,  the 
men  gave  him  a  cheer ;  then  Pinnager  and  all  went 
away  to  labor  fit  for  mighty  men,  and  the  swinging  of 
axes  and  the  crashing  of  huge  pines  and  the  tumbling 
of  logs  from  rollways  left  them  fancy-free  to  wonder 
how  Davie  could  ever  brace  himself  to  save  his  broken 
leg  at  the  cahots. 

The  terrible  cahots — plunges  in  snow-roads  I  But 
for  them  Davie  would  have  suffered  little  more  than  in 
a  shanty  bunk.  The  track  was  most!-/  two  smooth  ruts 
separated  by  a  ridge  so  high  and  hard  that  th'^  sleigh- 
bottom  often  slid  on  it.  Horsi;.  less  sure-footed  would 
have  staggered  much,  and  bitten  crossly  at  one  another 


'  / 


/ 1 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


271 


1  I 


while  trotting  in  those  deep,  narrow  ruts,  but  Davie's 
horses  kept  their  '  jog ' '  amiably,  tossing  their  heads 
with  glee  to  be  traveling  toward  home. 

The  clink  of  trace-chains,  the  clack  of  harness,  the 
glide  of  runners  on  the  hard,  dry  snow,  the  snorting  of 
(he  frosty-nosed  team,  the  long  whirring  of  startled 
grouse — Davie  heard  tsnly  these  sounds,  and  heard 
them  dreamily  in  the  long,  smooth  flights  between 
cahots. 

Overhead  the  pine  tops  were  a  dark  canopy  with 
little  fields  of  clear  blue  seen  through  the  rifts  of  green  ; 
on  the  forest  floor  small  firs  bent  under  rounding 
weights  of  snow  which  often  slid  off  as  if  moved  by  the 
stir  of  partridge  wings ;  the  fine  tracery  of  hemlocks 
stood  clean  ;  and  birches  snuggled  in  snow  that  mingled 
with  their  curling  rags.  Sometimes  a  breeze  eddied 
downward  in  the  aisles,  and  then  all  the  undergrowth 
was  a  silent  commotion  of  snow,  shaken  and  falling. 
Davie's  eyes  noted  all  things  unconsciously;  in  spite 
of  his  pain  he  felt  the  enchantment  of  the  winter 
woods  until — another  cahot !  he  called  his  team  to 
walk. 

Never  was  one  cahot  without  many  in  succession  ; 
he  gripped  his  stake  hard  at  each,  braced  his  sound 
leg,  and  held  on,  feeling  like  ^o  die  with  the  horrible 
thrust  of  the  broken  one  forwa^-d  and  then  back ;  yet 
always  his  will  ordered  his  desperate  senses. 

Eleven  o'clock  !     Davie  drew  up  before  the  half-breed 


■-^Ml 


272 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


W 


f 


Peter  Whiteduck's  mid  wood  stopping-place,  and  briefly 
explained  his  situation. 

"Give  my  horses  a  feed,"  he  went  on.  ** There's 
oats  in  this  bag.  I'll  no  be  moved  mysel'.  Maybe 
you'll  fetch  me  a  tin  of  tea;  I've  got  my  own  pro- 
visions. "     So  he  ate  and  drank  in  the  zero  weather. 

"You'll  took  hi'  drink  of  whiskey,"  said  Peter, 
with  commiseration,  as  Davie  was  starting  away.  • 

"I  don't  use  it." 

"You'll  got  for  need  some  'fore  you'll  see  de  Widow 
(ireen  place.     Dass  twenty-tree  mile. " 

' '  I  will  need  it,  then, ' '  said  Davie,  and  was  away. 

Evening  had  closed  in  when  the  bunch  of  teamsters 
awaiting  supper  at  Widow  Green's  rude  inn  heard 
sleigh-bells,  and  soon  a  shout  outside  : 

"Come  out,  some  one  !" 

That  was  an  insolence  in  the  teamsters'  code.  Come 
out,  indeed  !  The  Widow  Green,  bustling  about  with 
fried  pork,  felt  outraged.  To  be  called  out ! — of  her 
own  house  ! — like  a  dog  ! — not  she  ! 

"  Come  out  here,  somebody  ! "  Davie  shouted 
again. 

"G'  out  and  break  his  head  one  of  you,"  said 
fighting  Moses  Frost.  "  To  be  shoutin'  like  a  lord  !" 
Moses  was  too  great  a  personage  to  go  out  and  wreak 
vengeance  on  an  unknown. 

Narcisse  Larocque  went — to  thrash  anybody  would 
be  glory  for    Narcisse,  and   he  felt   sure    that   Moses 


n 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


273 


would  not,  in  these  circumstances,  let  anybody  thrash 
him.  .• 

"What  for  you  shout  lak'  dat?  Call  mans  hout, 
hey  ?  "  said  Narcisse.  "I'll  got  good  mind  for  broke 
your  head,  me  !  "  ■■ 

"Hi,  there,  men!"  Davie  ignored  Narcisse  as  ho 
saw  figures  through  the  open  door.  "  Some  white 
man  come  out.      My  leg's  broke." 

Oh,  then  the  up-jumping  of  big  men  !  Moses, 
striding  forth,  ruthlessly  shoved  Narcisse,  who  lay  and 
cowered  with  legs  up  as  a  dog  trying  to  placate  an 
angry  master.  Then  Moses  carried  Davie  in  as  gently 
as  if  the  young  stalwart  had  been  a  girl  baby,  and  laid 
him  on  the  widow's  one  spare  bed. 

That  night  Davie  slept  soundly  for  four  hours,  and 
woke  to  consciousness  that  his  leg  was  greatly  swollen. 
He  made  no  moan,  but  lay  in  the  darkness  listening  to 
the  heavy  breathing  of  the  teamsters  on  the  floor. 
They  could  do  nothing  for  him  ;  why  should  he  awaken 
them  ?  As  for  pitying  himself,  Davie  could  do  nothing 
so  fruitless.  He  fell  to  plans  for  getting  teams  in  to 
Pinnager,  for  this  young  Scot's  practical  mind  was 
horrified  at  the  thought  that  the  man  should  fail  finan- 
cially when  ten  horses  might  give  him  a  fine  profit  for 
his  winter's  work. 

Davie  was  away  at  dawn,  every  slight  jolt  giving  his 
swollen  leg  pain  almost  unendurable,  as  if  edges  of 
living    bone    were    griding    together   and    also    tearing 


V 


274 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DRIVE 


',/'' 


cavities  in  the  living  flesh  ;  but  he  must  endure  it,  and 
well  too,  for  the  teamsters  had  warned  him  he  must 
mcci    'strings  of  loadin'  "  this  day. 

The  rule  of  the  long  one-tracked  road  into  the  wilder- 
ness is,  of  course,  that  empty  outgoing  sleighs  shall  turn 
out  for  incoming  laden  ones.  Turn  out  into  seven  feet 
of  snow  !  Davie  trusted  that  incoming  teamsters  would 
handle  his  floundering  horses,  and  he  set  his  mind  to 
plan  how  they  might  save  him  from  turn  Idling  about  on 
his  turned-out  sleigh. 

About  nine  o'clock,  on  a  winding  road,  he  called, 
"Whoa!"  and  his  bays  st  >od.  A  sleigh  piled  with 
baled  hay  confronted  him  thirty  yards  distant.  Four 
others  followed  closely  ;  the  load  drawn  by  the  sixth 
team  was  hidden  by  the  woodland  curve.  No  team- 
sters were  visible ;  they  must  be  walking  behind  the 
procession  ;  and  Davie  wasted  no  strength  in  shouting. 
On  came  the  laden  teams,  till  the  steam  of  the  leaders 
mingled  with  the  tiouds  blown  by  his  bays.  At  that 
halt  angry  teamsters,  yelling,  ran  forward  and  sprang, 
one  by  one,  up  on  th'^ir  loads,  the  last  to  grasp  reins 
being  the  leading  driver.  ,  '  •' 

"Turn  out,  you  fool!"  he  shouted.  Then  to  his 
comrades  behind,  "There's  a  blamed  idyit  don't  know 
enough  to  turn  out  for  loading  !  "  ' 

Davie  said  nothing.  It  was  not  till  one  angry  man 
was  at  his  horses'  heads  and  two  more  about  to  tumble 
his  sleigh  aside  that  he  spoke  :  .. 


DOUR    DAVIE  S    DKIVE 


275 


"  My  leg  is  broke. "  ,  '    •     •    ' 

**  Gah  !  G'way  !  A  man  driving  with  his  leg  broke  ! 
You're  lying!  Come,  get  out  and  tramp  for  your 
horses  !  It's  your  back  ought  to  be  broke — stoppin' 
loadin'!" 

**  My  leg  is  broke,"  Davie  calmly  insisted. 

"  You  mean  it?  " 

Davie  thfw  ulT  his  blankets. 

"Begor,  it  is  broke!"  "And  him  ivih'  him- 
self!" **  It's  a  terror!"  "Great  spun'  irely!" 
Then  the  teamsters  began  planning  to  clear  the  way. 

That  was  soon  settled  by  Davie's  directions: 
* '  Tramp  down  the  crust  for  my  horses ;  onhitch  them  ; 
lift  my  sleigh  out  on  the  crust ;  pass  on  and  set  me 
back  on  the  road. "  ■         . 

Half  an  hour  was  consumed  by  the  operation — 
thrice  repeated  before  twelve  o'clock.  Fortunately 
Davie  came  on  the  last  "string"  of  teams  and  halted 
for  lunch  by  the  edge  of  a  lake.  The  teamsters  fed 
and  watered  his  horses,  gave  him  hot  tea,  and  with 
great  admiration  saw  him  start  for  an  afternoon  drive  of 
twenty-two  miles. 

"You'll  not  likely  meet  any  teams,"  they  said. 
"The  last  of  the  'loading'  that's  like  to  come  in  soon 
is  with  ourselves. ' ' 

How  Davie  got  down  the  hills,  up  the  hills,  across 
the  rivers  and  over  the  lakes  of  that  terrible  afternoon 
he  could  never  rightly  tell. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Li  12^    |2.5 

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Ui  I2ii    |2.2 
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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


V 


^ 


276 


DOUR   DAVIE  S   DRIVE 


"Pm  thinkin'  I  was  light-heided,"  he  said  after- 
ward. "The  notion  was  in  me  somehow  that  the  Lord 
was  lookin*  to  me  to  save  Pinnager's  bits  of  children. 
I'd  waken  out  of  it  at  the  cahots — there  was  mair  than 
enough.  On  the  smooth  my  head  would  be  strange - 
like,  and  I  mind  but  the  hinder  end  of  my  horses  ti^l 
the  moon  was  high  and  me  stoppit  by  McGraw's." 

During  the  night  at  McGraw's  his  head  was  cleared 
by  some  hours  of  sound  sleep,  and  next  morning  he 
insisted  on  traveling,  though  snow  was  falling  heavily. 

**  My  feyther's  place  is  no  more  than  a  bittock  ayont 
twenty-eight  miles,'  he  said.  "Pll  make  it  by  three 
of  the  clock,  if  the  Lord's  willin',  and  get  the  doctor's 
hands  on  me.  It's  my  leg  Pm  thinkin'  of  savin'. 
And  mind  ye,  McGraw,  you've  promised  me  to  send 
in  your  team  to  Pinnager. " 

Perhaps  people  who  have  never  risen  out  of  bitter 
poverty  will  not  understand  Davie's  keen  anxiety  about 
Pinnager  and  Pinnager's  children  ;  but  the  McAndrews 
and  Pinnagers  and  all  their  neighbors  of  "the  Scotch 
settlement"  had  won  up  by  the  tenacious  labor  and 
thrift  of  many  years.  Davie  remembered  well  how, 
in  his  early  boyhood,  he  had  often  craved  more  food 
and  covering.  Pinnager  and  his  family  should  not  be 
thrown  back  into  the  gulf  of  poverty  if  Davie  Mc- 
Andrews' will  could  save  them. 

This  day  his  road  lay  through  a  country  thinly 
settled,  but  he  could  see  few  cabins  through  the  driving 


DOUR    DAVIE'S   DRIVE 


277 


Storm.  The  flagging  horses  trotted  steadily,  as  if  aware 
that  the  road  would  become  worse  the  longer  they  were 
on  it,  but  about  ten  o'clock  they  inclined  to  stop  where 
Davie  could  dimly  see  a  log  house  and  a  shed  with  a 
team  and  sleigh  standing  in  it.     Drunken  yells  told 


him   this   must    be    Black 
Donald  Donaldson's  notorious 
tavern ;  so  he  chirruped  his  horses 
onward. 

Ten  minutes  later  yells  and  sleigh-bells  were  follow- 
ing him  at  a  furious  pace.  Davie  turned  head  and 
shouted ;  still  the  drunken  men  shrieked  and  came  on. 
He  looked  for  a  place  to  turn  out — none  !  He  dared 
not  stop  his  horses  lest  the  gallopers,  now  close  behind 
him,  should  be  over  him  and  his  low  sleigh.  Now  his 
team  broke   into  a  run  at  the  noises,  but  the  fresh 


278 


DOUR   DAVIE'S   DRIVE 


horses  behind  sped  faster.  The  men  were  hidden 
from  Davie  by  their  crazed  horses.  He  could  not  rise 
to  appeal ;  he  could  not  turn  to  daunt  the  horses  with 
his  whip ;  their  fronthoofs,  rising  high,  were  soon  within 
twenty  feet  of  him.  Did  his  hones  slacken,  the  others 
would  be  on  top  of  him,  kicking  and  tumbling. 

The  cahofs  were  numerous ;  his  yells  for  a  halt  be- 
came so  much  like  screams  of  agony  that  he  took  shame 
of  them,  shut  his  mouth  firmly,  and  knew  not  what  to 
do.  Then  suddenly  his  horses  swerved  into  the  cross- 
road to  the  Scotch  settlement,  while  the  drunkards  gal- 
loped away  on  the  main  road,  still  lashing  and  yelling. 
Davie  does  not  know  to  this  day  who  the  men  were. 

Five  hours  later  David  McAndrews,  the  elder,  kept 
at  home  by  the  snowstorm,  heard  bells  in  his  lane, 
and  looked  curiously  out  of  the  sitting-room  window. 

"Losh,  Janet!"  he  said,  most  deliberately.  "I 
wasna  expeckin'  Davie  j  here  he's  back  wi'  the  bays." 

He  did  not  hurry  out  to  meet  his  fourth  son,  for  he 
is  a  man  who  hates  the  appearance  of  haste  ;  but  his 
wife  did,  and  came  rushing  back  through  the  kitchen. 

"It's  Davie  himsel'  !  He's  back  wi'  his  leg  broke  ! 
He's  come  a'  the  way  by  his  lone  I " 

*  <  Hoot-toot,  woman  !    Ye'  re  daft  I ' ' 

"I'm  no  daft  J  come  and  see  younel'.  Wae's  me, 
my  Davie's  like  to  die  !     Me  daft,  indeed  I  I  need 

to  send   Neil  straight  awa'  to  the  village  for  Doctor 
Aberdeen." 


It, 


DOUR    DAVIE  S   DRIVE 


279 


And  so  dour  Davie's  long  drive  was  past.  While  his 
brother  carried  him  in,  his  will  was  occupied  with  the 
torture,  but  he  had  scarcely  been  laid  on  his  bed  when 
he  said,  very  respectfully — ^but  faintly — to  his  father : 

"You'll  be  sendin'  Neil  oot  for  the  doctor,  sir? 
Aye;  then  I'd  be  thankfu'  if  you'd  give  Aleck  leave 
to  tak'  the  grays  and  warn  the  settlement  that  Pinnager's 
needin'  teams  sorely.  He's  like  to  make  or  break;  if 
he  gets  sax  or  eight  spans  in  time  he's  a  made  man." 

That  was  enough  for  the  men  of  the  Scotch  ^ttle- 
ment.  Pinnager  got  all  the  help  he  needed ;  and  yet 
he  is  far  from  as  rich  to-day  as  Davie  McAndrews,  the 
great  Brazeau  River  lumberman,  who  walks  a  little  lame 
of  his  left  leg. 


PETHERICK'S  PERIL 


EACH  stoiy  of  the  Shelton  Cotton  Factory  is  fifteen 
feet  between  floors ;  there  are  seven  such  over 
the  basement,  and  this  rises  six  feet  above  the  ground. 
The  brick  walls  narrow  to  eight  inches  as  they  ascend, 
and  form  a  parapet  rising  above  the  roof.  One  of  the 
time-keepers  of  the  factory,  Jack  Hardy,  a  young  man 
about  my  own  age,  often  runs  along  the  brickwork,  the 
practice  giving  him  a  singular  delight  that  has  seemed 
to  increase  with  his  proficiency  in  it.  Having  been  a 
clerk  in  the  works  from  the  beginning,  I  have  frequently 
used  the  parapet  for  a  footpath,  and  although  there 
was  a  sheer  fall  of  one  hundred  feet  to  the  ground, 
have  done  it  with  ease  and  without  dizziness.  Occa- 
sionally Hardy  and  I  have  run  races,  on  the  opposite 
walls,  an  exercise  in  which  he  invariably  beats  me,  be- 
cause I  become  timid  with  increase  of  pace. 

Hopelessly  distanced  last  Wednesday,  while  the  men 
w  off"  at  noon,  I  gave  up  midway,  and  looking  down, 
observed  the  upturned  face  of  an  old  man  gazing  at  me 
with  parted  lips,  wide  eyes,  and  an  expression  of  horror 
so  startling  that  I  involuntarily  stepped  down  to  the 
bricklayer's  platform  inside.  I  then  saw  that  the  ap- 
280 


. 


PBTHERICKS    PERIL 


281 


parently  frightened  spectator  was  Mr.  Petherick,  who 
had  been  for  some  weeks  paymaster  and  factotum  for 
the  contractors. 

♦♦What's  the  matter,  Petherick?"  I  called  down. 
He  made  no  answer,  but  walking  off  rapidly,  dis- 
appeared round  the  mill.  Curious  about  his  demeanor, 
I  descended,  and  after  some  little  seeking  found  him 
smoking  alone. 

•♦  You  quite  frightened  me  just  now,  Petherick,"  said 
I.     •'  Did  you  think  I  was  a  ghost  ?  " 

*♦  Not  just  that,"  he  replied  sententiously. 

**  Did  you  expect  me  to  fall,  then  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Not  just  that,  either,'^  said  he.  The  old  man 
was  clearly  disinclined  to  talk,  and  apparently  much 
agitated.  I  began  to  joke  him  about  his  lugubrious 
expression,  when  the  one  o'clock  bell  rang,  and  he 
shuffled  off  hastily  to  another  quarter. 

Though  I  puzzled  awhile  over  the  incident,  it  soon 
passed  so  entirely  from  my  mind  that  I  was  surprised 
when,  passing  Petherick  in  the  afternoon,  and  intending 
to  go  alofl,  he  said,  as  I  went  by : 

"  Don't  do  it  again,  Mr.  Frazer  ! " 
What?"  I  stopped. 
"That!"  he  retorted. 
Oh  !    You  mean  running  on  the  wall,"  said  I. 

'♦I  mean  going  on  it  at  all !"  he  exclaimed.  His 
earnestness  was  so  marked  that  I  conceived  a  strong 
interest  in  its  cause. 


282 


PETHERICKS    lERIL 


"I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you,  Mr.  Petherick.  If 
you  tell  me  why  you  advise  me,  I'll  give  the  thing 
up!" 

**Done!"  said  he.  "Come  to  my  cottage  this 
e:  ning,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  strange  adventure  of  my 
own,  though  perhaps  you'll  only  laugh  that  it's  the 
reason  why  it  sickens  me  to  see  you  fooling  up  there." 

Petherick  was  ready  to  talk  when  Jack  and  I  sat 
down  on  his  doorsteps  that  evening,  and  immediately 
launched  into  the  following  narrative  : 


,.i 


I  was  born  and  grew  to  manhood  near  the  highest 
cliffs  of  the  Polvydd  coast.  Millions  of  sea-fowls  make 
their  nests  along  the  face  of  those  wave-worn  precipices. 
My  companions  and  I  used  to  get  much  excitement, 
and  sometimes  a  good  deal  of  pocket  money,  by  taking 
their  eggs.  One  of  us,  placing  his  feet  in  a  loop  at 
the  end  of  a  rope  and  taking  a  good  grip  with  his 
hands,  would  be  lowered  by  the  others  to  the  nest. 
When  he  had  his  basket  full  they'd  haul  him  up  and 
another  would  go  down. 

Well,  one  afternoon  I  thus  went  dangling  off.  They 
paid  out  about  a  hundred  feet  of  rope  before  I  touched 
the  ledge  and  let  go. 

You  must  know  that  most  of  the  cliffs  along  that 
coast  overhang  the  water.  At  many  points  one  could 
drop  six  hundred  feet  into  the  sea,  and  then  be  forty 
or  fifty  feet  from  the  base  of  the  rock  he  left.     The 


'i 


petherick's  peril 


283 


coast  is  scooped  under  by  the  waves,  and  in  some 
places  the  clifT  wall  is  as  though  it  had  been  eaten 
away  by  seas  once  running  in  on  higher  levels.  There 
will  be  an  overhanging  coping,  then — some  hundred 
feet  down — a  ledge  sticking  out  farther  than  that  of 
the  top ;  under  that  ledge  all  will  be  scooped  away. 
In  some  places  there  are  three  or  four  such  ledges,  each 
projecting  farther  than  those  above. 

These  ledges  used  to  fall  away  occasionally,  as  they 
do  yet,  I  am  told,  for  the  ocean  is  gradually  devouring 
that  coast.  Where  they  did  not  project  farther  than 
the  upper  coping,  the  egg-gatherer  would  swing  like  a 
pendulum  on  the  rope,  and  get  on  the  rock,  if  not  too 
far  in,  then  put  a  rock  on  the  loop  to  hold  it  till  his 
return.  When  a  ledge  did  project  so  that  one  could 
drop  straight  on  it,  he  hauled  down  some  slack  and  left 
the  rope  hanging.  Did  the  wind  never  blow  it  off? 
Seldom,  and  never  out  of  reach. 

Well,  the  ledge  I  reached  was  like  this.  It  was  some 
ten  feet  wide  ;  it  stuck  out  maybe  six  feet  farther  than 
the  cliff  top  ;  the  rock  wall  went  up  pretty  near  perpen- 
dicular, till  near  the  coping  at  the  ground,  but  below  the 
ledge,  the  cliff's  face  was  so  scooped  away  that  the  sea, 
five  hundred  feet  below,  ran  in  under  it  nigh  fifty  feet. 

As  I  went  down,  thousands  of  birds  rose  from  the 
jagged  places  of  the  precipice,  circling  around  me  with 
harsh  screams.  Soon  touching  the  ledge,  I  stepped 
from  the  loop,  and  drawing  down  a  little  slack,  walked 


284 


PETHERICK  S    PERIL 


off  briskly.  For  fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile  the  ledge  ran 
along  the  clifT's  face  almost  as  level  and  even  in  width 
as  that  sidewalk.  I  remember  fancying  that  it  sloped 
outward  more  than  usual,  but  instantly  dismissed  the 
notion,  though  Gaffer  Pentreath,  the  oldest  man  in 
that  countryside,  used  to  tell  us  that  we  should  not  get  ' 
the  use  of  that  ledge  always.  It  had  been  as  steady  in 
our  time  as  in  his  grandfather's,  and  we  only  laughed 
at  his  prophecies.  Yet  the  place  of  an  old  filled  fissure 
was  marked  by  a  line  of  grass,  by  tufts  of  weeds  and 
small  bushes,  stretching  almost  as  far  as  the  ledge 
itself,  and  within  a  foot  or  so  of  the  cliff's  face. 

Eggs  were  not  so  many  as  usual,  and  I  went  a  long 
piece  from  my  rope  before  turning  back.  Then  I 
noticed  the  very  strange  conduct  of  the  hosts  of  sea- 
fowls  below.  Usually  there!  were  hundreds,  but  now 
there  were  millions  on  the  wing,  and  instead  of  darting 
forth  in  playful  motions,  they  seemed  to  be  wildly 
excited,  screaming  shrilly,  rushing  out  as  in  terror,  and, 
returning  in  masses  as  though  to  alight,  only  to  wheel 
in  dread  and  keep  the  air  in  vast  clouds. 

The  weather  was  beautiful,  the  sea  like  glass.  At  no 
great  distance  were  two  large  brigs  and,  nearer,  a  small 
yacht  lay  becalmed,  heaving  on  the  long  billows.  I 
could  look  down  her  cabin  stairway  almost,  and  it 
seemed  scarcely  more  than  a  long  leap  to  her  deck. 

Puzzled  by  the  singular  conduct  of  the  sea-birds,  I 
soon  stopped  and  set  my  back  against  the  cliff,  to  rest 


petherick's  peril 


285 


while  watching  them.     The  day  was  deadly  still  and 
very  wann. 

I  remember  taking  off  my  cap  and  wiping  the 
sweat  from  my  face  and  forehead  with  my  sleeve. 
While  doing  this,  I  looked  down  involuntarily  to  the 
fissure  at  my  feet.  Instantly  my  blood  almost  froze 
with  horror !  There  was  a  distinct  crack  between  the 
inner  edge  of  the  fissure  and  the  hard-packed,  root- 
threaded  soil  with  which  it  was  filled !  Forcibly  I 
pressed  back,  and  in  a  flash  looked  along  the  ledge. 
The  fissure  was  widening  under  my  eyes,  the  rock 
before  me  seemed  sinking  outward,  and  with  a  siiudder 
and  a  groan  and  roar,  the  whole  long  platform  fell 
crashing  to  the  sea  below !  I  stood  on  a  margin  of 
rock  scarce  a  foot  wide,  at  my  back  a  perpendicular 
cliff,  and,  five  hundred  feet  below,  the  ocean,  now 
almost  hidden  by  the  vast  concourse  of  wheeling  and 
affrighted  birds. 

Can  you  believe  that  my  first  sensation  was  one  of 
relief?  I  stood  safe  !  Even  a  feeling  of  interest  held 
me  for  some  moments.  Almost  coolly  I  observed  a 
long  and  mighty  wave  roll  out  from  beneath.  It  went 
forth  with  a  high,  curling  crest — a  solid  wall  of  water  ! 
It  struck  the  yacht  stern  on,  plunged  down  on  her 
deck,  smashed  through  her  swell  of  sail,  and  swept  her 
out  of  sight  forever. 

Not  till  then  did  my  thoughts  dwell  entirely  on  my 
own  position ;  not  till  then  did  I  comprehend  its  hope- 


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lessness  t  Now  my  eyes  closed  convulsively,  to  shut 
out  the  abyss  down  which  my  glance  had  fallen ; 
shuddering,  I  pressed  hard  against  the  solid  wall  at  my 
back ;  an  appalling  cold  slowly  crept  through  me. 
My  reason  struggled  against  a  wild  desire  to  leap ;  all 
the  demons  of  despair  whispered  me  to  make  an  instant 
end.  In  imagination  I  had  leaped  !  I  felt  the  swoon- 
ing helplessness  of  falling  and  the  cold,  upward  rush  of 
air ! 

Still  I  pressed  hard  back  against  the  wall  of  rock, 
and  though  nearly  faint  from  terror,  never  forgot  for  an 
instant  the  death  at  my  feet,  nor  the  utter  danger  of 
the  slightest  motion.  How  long  this  weakness  lasted  I 
know  not ;  I  only  know  that  the  unspeakable  horror  of 
that  first  period  has  come  to  me  in  waking  dreams 
many  and  many  a  day  since  ;  that  I  have  long  nights 
of  that  deadly  fear ;  that  to  think  of  the  past  is  to 
stand  again  on  that  narrow  foothold;  and  to  look 
around  on  the  earth  is  often  to  cry  out  with  joy  that  it 
widens  away  from  my  feet. 

(The  old  man  paused  long.  Glancing  sidewise  at 
Jack,  I  saw  that  his  face  was  pallid.  I  myself  had 
shuddered  and  grown  cold,  so  strongly  had  my  imagi- 
nation realized  the  awful  experience  that  Petherick  de- 
scribed.    At  length  he  resumed  his  story:) 

Suddenly  these  words  flashed  to  my  brain:  "Are 
not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a  farthing?  And  one  of 
them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Father. 


PETHERICKS    PERIL 


287 


Fear  not,  therefore ;  ye  are  of  more  value  than  many 
sparrows."  My  faculties  were  so  strained  that  I  seemed 
to  hear  the  words.  Indeed,  often  yet  I  think  that  I 
did  truly  hear  a  voice  utter  them  very  near  me. 

Instantly  hope  arose,  consciously  desperate  indeed ; 
but  I  became  calm,  resourceful,  capable,  and  felt  unac- 
countably aided.  Careful  not  to  look  down,  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  gazed  far  away  over  the  bright  sea.  The 
rippled  billows  told  that  a  light  outward  breeze  had 
sprung  up.  Slowly,  and  somewhat  more  distant,  the 
two  brigs  moved  toward  the  horizon.  Turning  my  head, 
I  could  trace  the  narrow  stone  of  my  footing  to  where 
my  rope  dangled,  perhaps  three  hundred  yards  distant. 

It  seemed  to  hang  within  easy  reach  of  the  cliff's 
face,  and  instantly  I  resolved  and  as  instantly  proceeded 
to  work  toward  it.  No  time  remained  for  hesitation. 
Night  was  coming  on.  I  reasoned  that  my  comrades 
thought  me  killed.  They  had  probably  gone  to  view 
the  new  condition  of  the  precipice  from  a  lower  station, 
and  on  their  return  would  haul  up  and  carry  off  the 
rope.  I  made  a  move  toward  it.  Try  to  think  of  that 
journey  I 

Shuffling  sidewise  very  carefully,  I  had  not  made 
five  yards  before  I  knew  that  I  could  not  continue  to 
look  out  over  that  abyss  without  glancing  down,  and 
that  I  could  not  glance  down  without  losing  my  senses. 
You  have  the  brick  line  to  keep  eyes  on  as  you  walk 
along  the  factory  wall ;  do  you  think  you  could  move 


1  I 


288 


PETHE..ICKS    PERIL 


along  it  erect,  looking  down  as  you  would  have  to? 
Yet  it  is  only  one  hundred  feet  high.  Imagine  five 
more  such  walls  on  top  of  that  and  you  trying  to  move 
sidewise — incapable  of  closing  your  eyes,  forced  to  look 
down,  from  end  to  end,  yes,  three  times  farther ! 
Imagine  you've  got  to  go  on  or  jump  off !  Would  you 
not,  in  an  ecstasy  of  nervous  agitation,  fall  to  your 
knees,  get  down  face  first  at  full  length,  clutch  by  your 
hands,  and  with  your  shut  eyes  feel  your  way?  I 
longed  to  lie  down  and  hold,  but  of  course  that  was 
impossible. 

The  fact  that  there  was  a  wall  at  my  back  made  it 
worse  !  The  cliff  seemed  to  press  outward  against  me. 
It  did,  in  fact,  incline  very  slightly  outward.  It  seemed 
to  be  thrusting  me  off.  Oh,  the  horror  of  that  sensa- 
tion !  Your  toes  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  and  the 
implacable,  calm  mountain  apparently  weighting  you 
slowly  forward. 

(Beads  of  sweat  poured  out  over  his  white  face  at  the 
horror  he  had  called  before  him.  Wiping  his  lips 
nervously  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  looking 
askant,  as  at  the  narrow  pathway,  he  paused  long.  I 
saw  its  cruel  edge  and  the  dark  gleams  of  its  abysmal 
water. ) 

I  knew  that  with  my  back  to  the  wall  I  could  never 
reach  the  rope.  I  could  not  face  toward  it  and  step 
forward,  so  narrow  was  the  ledge.  Motion  was  per- 
haps barely  possible  that  way,  but  the  breadth  of  my 


PETHERICKS    PERIL 


289 


shoulders  would  have  forced  me  to  lean  somewhat  more 
outward,  and  this  I  dared  not  and  could  not  do.  Also, 
to  see  a  solid  surface  before  me  became  an  irresistible 
desire.  I  resolved  to  try  to  turn  round  before  resum- 
ing the  desperate  journey.  To  do  this  I  had  to  nerve 
myself  for  one  steady  look  at  my  footing. 

In  the  depths  below  the  myriad  sea-fowl  then  rested 
on  the  black  water,  which,  though  swelling  more  with 
the  rising  wind,  had  yet  an  unbroken  surface  at  some 
little  distance  from  the  precipice,  while  farther  out  it 
had  begun  to  jump  to  whitecaps,  and  in  beneath  me, 
where  I  could  not  see,  it  dashed  and  churned  with 
a  faint,  pervading  roar  that  I  could  barely  distinguish. 
Before  the  descending  sun  a  heavy  bank  of  cloud  had 
risen.  The  ocean's  surface  bore  that  appearance  of 
intense  and  angry  gloom  that  often  heralds  a  storm, 
but,  save  the  deep  murmur  going  out  from  far  below 
my  perch,  all  to  my  hearing  was  deadly  still. 

Cautiously  I  swung  my  right  foot  before  the  other 
and  carefully  edged  around.  For  an  instant  as  my 
shoulder  rubbed  up  against  the  rock,  I  felt  that  I  must 
fall.  I  did  stagger,  in  fact,  but  the  next  moment  stood 
firm,  face  to  the  beetling  cliff,  my  heels  on  the  very 
edge,  and  the  new  sensation  of  the  abyss  behind  me 
no  less  horrible  than  that  from  which  I  had  with  such 
difficulty  escaped.  I  stood  quaking.  A  deHrious 
horror  thrilled  every  nerve.  The  skin  about  my  ears 
and  neck,  suddenly  cold,  shrank  convulsively. 


\  \ 


290 


PETHERICKS    PERIL 


\ 


Wild  with  fear,  I  thrust  forward  my  head  against 
the  rock  and  rested  in  agony.  A  whir  and  wind  of 
sudden  wings  made  me  conscious  of  outward  things 
again.  Then  a  mad  eagerness  to  cUmb  swept  away 
other  feeling,  and  my  hands  attempted  in  vain  to  clutch 
the  rock.  Not  daring  to  cast  my  head  backward,  I 
drew  it  tortoise-likie  between  my  raised  shoulders,  and 
chin  against  the  precipice,  gazed  upward  with  straining 
of  vision  from  under  my  eyebrows. 

Far  above  me  the  dead  wall  stretched.  Sidewise 
glances  gave  me  glimpses  of  the  projecting  summit 
coping.  There  was  no  hope  in  that  direction.  But 
the  distraction  of  scanning  the  chfT-side  had  given  my 
nerves  some  relief;  to  my  memory  agajn  returned 
the  promise  of  the  Almighty  and  the  consciousness 
of  his  regard.  Once  more  my  muscles  became  firm- 
strung.  * 

A  cautious  step  sidewise  made  me  know  how  much 
I  had  gained  in  ease  and  security  of  motion  by  the 
change  of  front.  I  made  progress  that  seemed  almost 
rapid  for  some  rods,  and  even  had  exultation  in  my 
quick  approach  to  the  rope.  Hence  came  freedom  to 
think  how  I  should  act  on  reaching  it,  and  speculation 
as  to  how  soon  my  comrades  would  haul  me  up. 

Then  the  idea  rushed  through  me  that  they  might 
even  yet  draw  it  away  too  soon,  that  while  almost  in 
my  clutch  it  might  rise  from  my  hands.  Instantly  all 
the  terrors  of  my  position  returned  with  tenfold  force  ;  , 


PETHEKICKS    PERIL 


291 


■I 


Vt. 


an  outward  thrust  of  the  precipice  seemed  to  grow 
distinct,  my  trembling  hands  told  me  that  it  moved 
bodily  toward  me;  the  descent  behind  me  took  an 
unspeakable  remoteness,  and  from  the  utmost  depth  of 
that  sheer  air  seemed  to  ascend  steadily  a  deadly  and  a 
chilling  wind.  But  I  think  I  did  not  stop  for  an 
instant.  Instead  a  delirium  to  move  faster  possessed 
me,  and  with  quick,  sidelong  steps — my  following  foot 
striking  hard  against  that  before — sometimes  on  the 
point  of  stumbling,  stretched  out  like  the  crucified,  I 
pressed  in  mortal  terror  along. 

Every  possible  accident  and  delay  was  presented 
to  my  excited  brain.  What  if  the  ledge  should  narrow 
suddenly  to  nothing  ?  Now  I  believed  that  my  heels 
were  unsupported  in  air,  and  I  moved  along  on  tip-toe. 
Now  I  was  convinced  that  the  narrow  pathway  sloped 
outward,  that  this  slope  had  become  so  distinct,  so 
increasingly  distinct,  that  I  ipight  at  any  moment  slip 
off  into  the  void.  But  dominating  every  consideration 
of  possible  disaster  was  still  that  of  the  need  for  speed, 
and  distinct  amid  all  other  terrors  was  that  sensation  of 
the  dead  wall  ever  silently  and  inexorably  pressing  me 
outward. 

My  mouth  and  throat  were  choked  with  dryness, 
my  convulsive  lips  parched  and  arid ;  much  I  longed  to 
press  them  against  the  cold,  moist  stone.  But  I  never 
stopped.  Faster,  faster,  more  wildly  I  stepped — in  a 
delirium  I  pushed  along.     Then  suddenly  before  my 


292 


PETHERICK  S   PERIL 


Staring  eyes  was  a  well-remembered  edge  of  mos^y 
stone,  and  I  knew  that  the  rope  should  be  directly 
behind  me.     Was  it  ? 

I  glanced  over  my  left  shoulder.  The  rope  was 
not  to  be  seen  !  Wildly  I  looked  over  the  other— no 
rope  !    Almighty  God  1  and  hast  thou  deserted  me  ? 

But  what !  Yes,  it  moves,  it  sways  in  sight !  it 
disappears^to  return  again  to  view  I  There  was  the 
rope  directly  at  my  back,  swinging  in  the  now  strong 
breeze  with  a  motion  that  had  carried  it  away  from  my 
first  hurried  glances.  With  the  rdief  tears  pressed  to 
my  eyes  and,  face  bowed  to  the  precipice,  almost 
forgetful  for  a  little  time  of  the  hungry  air  beneath,  I 
offered  deep  thanks  to  my  God  for  the  deliverance 
that  seemed  so  near. 

(The  old  man's  lips  continued  to  move,  but  no  sound 
came  from  them.  We  waited  silent  while,  with  closed 
eyes  and  bent  head,  he  remained  absorbed  in  the 
recollection  of  that  strange  minute  of  devoutness.  It 
was  some  moments  before  he  spoke  again:) 

I  stood  there  for  what  now  seems  a  space  of  hours, 
perhaps  half  a  minute  in  reality.  Then  all  the  chances 
still  to  be  run  crowded  upon  me.  To  turn  around  had 
been  an  attempt  almost  desperate  before,  and  certainly, 
most  certainly,  the  ledge  was  no  wider  where  I  now 
stood.  Was  the  rope  within  reach  ?  I  feared  not. 
Would  it  sway  toward  me  ?     I  could  hope  for  that. 

But  could  I  grasp  it  should  I  be  suved?    Would 


Between  Earth  and  Sky. 

"Was  the  rope  within  reach?" 


Page  292. 


PETHERICKS    PERIL 


293 


i 


it  not  yield  to  my  hand,  coming  slowly  down  as  I 
pulled,  unrolling  from  a  coil  above,  trailing  over  the 
ground  at  the  top,  running  fast  as  its  end  approached 
the  edge,  falling  suddenly  at  last  ?  Or  was  it  fastened 
to  the  accustomed  stake  ?  Was  any  comrade  near  who 
would  summon  aid  at  my  signal  ?  If  not,  and  if  I 
grasped  it,  and  if  it  held,  how  long  should  I  swing  in 
the  wind  that  now  bore  the  freshness  and  tremors  of  an 
imminent  gale  ? 

Again  fear  took  hold  of  me,  and  as  a  desperate  man 
I  prepared  to  turn  my  face  once  more  to  the  vast  ex- 
panse of  water  and  the  nothing  beyond  that  awful  cliff. 
Closing  my  eyes,  I  writhed  around  with  I  know  not 
what  motions  till  again  my  back  pressed  the  cliff.  That 
was  a  restful  sensation.  And  now  for  the  decision  of 
my  fate  I  I  looked  at  the  rope.  Not  for  a  moment 
could  I  fancy  it  within  my  reach  !  Its  sidewise  sway- 
ings  were  not,  as  I  had  expected,  even  slightly  inward 
■ — ^indeed  when  it  fell  back  against  the  wind  it  swung 
outward  as  though  the  air  were  eddying  from  the  wall. 

Now  at  last  I  gazed  down  steadily.  Would  a  leap 
be. certain  death?  The  water  was  of  immense  depth 
below.  But  what  chance  of  striking  it  feet  or  hiead 
first?  What  ch  mce  of  preserving  consciousness  in  the 
descent  ?  No,  the  leap  would  be  death ;  that  at  least 
was  clear. 

Again  I  turned  to  the  rope.  I  was  now  perfectly 
desperate,  but  steady,  nerved  beyond  the  best  moments 


294 


PETHERICK  S   PERIL 


of  my  life,  good  for  an  effort  surpassing  the  human. 
Still  the  rope  swayed  as  before,  and  its  motion  was  very 
regular.     I  saw  that  I  could  touch  it  at  any  point  of 
its  gyration  by  a  strong  leap. 

But  could  I  grasp  it  ?  What  use  if  it  were  not  firmly 
secured  above  ?  But  all  time  for  hesitation  had  gone 
by.  I  knew  too  well  that  strength  was  mine  but  for  a 
moment,  and  that  in  the  next  reaction  of  weakness  I 
should  drop  from  the  wall  like  a  dead  fly.  Bracing 
myself,  I  watched  the  rope  steadily  for  one  round,  and 
as  it  returned  against  the  wind,  jumped  straight  out 
over  the  heaving  Atlantic. 

By  God's  aid  I  reached,  touched,  clutched,  held 
the  strong  line.  And  it  held  !  Not  absolutely.  Once, 
twice,  and  again,  it  gave,  gave,  with  jerks  that  tried  my 
arms.  I  knew  these  indicated  but  tightening.  Then 
it  held  firm  and  I  swung  turning  in  the  air,  secure 
above  the  waves  that  beat  below. 

To  slide  down  and  place  my  feet  in  the  loop  was 
the  instinctive  work  of  a  moment.  Fortunately  it  was 
of  dimensions  to  admit  my  body  barely.  I  slipped  it 
over  my  thighs  up  to  my  armpits  just  as  the  dreaded 
reaction  of  weakness  came.     Then  I  lost  consciousness. 

When  I  awakened  my  dear  mother's  face  was  be- 
side my  pillow,  and  she  told  me  that  I  had  been  tossing 
for  a  fortnight  in  brain  fever.  Many  weeks  I  lay  there, 
and  when  I  got  strong  found  that  I  had  left  my  nerve 
on  that  awful  cliff-side.     Never  since  have  I  been  able 


PETHERICKS    PERIL 


295 


to  look  from  a  height  or  see  any  other  human  being  on 
one  without  shuddering. 

So  now  you  know  the  story,  Mr.  Frazer,  and  have 
.had  your  last  walk  on  the  factory  wall. 


He  spoke  truer  than  he  knew.  His  story  has  given 
me  such  horrible  nightmares  ever  since  that  I  could  no 
more  walk  on  the  high  brickwork  than  along  that  nar- 
row ledge  of  the  distant  Polvydd  coast. 


